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Being distracted.   Didn’t you know how dangerous that is?   So busy checking your phone for a call from him, crushing the bridal registry list from the china shop in the other hand, steaming a little from the nostrils, red rags flapping furiously in front of your reasoning.

Worried he was out with that cow, weren’t you?   Wondering if you should take your anxieties by the horns and toss them, or call the bastard up and seeing if that bullshit about working late actually meant working late…

Seeing red.   Like the kid who has followed you home, and is now picking his way daintly through the arena of vases and porcelain.  

Only you don’t see: snorting and stamping at the gate, rushing at the perceived danger, never looking past the cape or beyond the clown at the real threat.   Behind you.   Too busy playing first with the engagement ring, and then with the star sign pendant he gave you that nestles in the bare hollow of your throat; ringing the number again and tipping your head on one side to leave a message, so the hair falls back and the sweet spot is clear – but the message is left unfinished as the two banderillas pierce, and there is blood spilt over the ring as the estocada is made…

Olé.

 

THIRD SIGN…

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7 Comments

  1. At the risk of you bursting into a projectile of bloody goop as a result of an overfed ego, I must say again…you’re magnificent. A wordsmith.

  2. All is fair in love and war, no?

  3. Have you seen the film Matador by Pedro Almodóvar (1986) I really think you might like it 😉

    http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091495/

    Loving your writing, sexy as always.

    • How the fuck did you come across it? I’ll look into it…

      • Used to live in Spain, it’s my favourite film, ever 🙂

      • So did I. But then – you’ve live most places after a couple of centuries…


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