through her skin again, scoring a shallow groove just above the pale bud of a nipple. I pull gently away from the kiss in order to watch the beading trickles run over her breast and down the side of her body into the lush folds of the blankets. I bring my tongue down in contact with her again, desperate to taste the magical vibrancy of her life once more, a thousand times more if she'll allow me.
* * *
I wake with the familiar tang of copper in my mouth, as if the line between past and present had finally ruptured. Jade green dots dance in my vision tormenting me with the specter of memory, and the wind sighs amongst the trees with the noise of a sated lover, the cool contrast of the breeze striking my feverish skin, whispering fragmented syllables of comfort into my ears. I sit up disorientated, trying to clear her out of my head, and Ghost looks at me solemnly, short on sympathy as ever.
“ I can't undo what's been done, can't bring either of them back with sorrow alone, so don't start.”
Picking up his lead I stand, still unsteady but rapidly returning to my senses, and start to head back towards the car. The dog follows reluctantly in my wake, making loud huffing noises to signal his displeasure. He affects an obnoxious attitude that I probably deserve since I'm so often distant and lost amongst the tattered threads of thoughts, ignoring my progress in any given direction and striking out alone on his own routes.
After my initial frustration at the dog's behavior subsides I find myself laughing quietly, Ghost returns to an approximation of obedience shortly afterward, presumably happy that his point has now been well made.
“ I'd ask what I did to deserve a smart arse for a pet, but I guess it's entirely appropriate.” I ruffle the fur between his ears firmly.
* * *
The afternoon shift is mundane drudgery of the worst variety, an assortment of crap jobs successfully avoided by the day shift for me to sort out, and little in the way of excitement coming in on the radio. Marcus is on a day off for time in lieu and I end up on foot patrol around Broxtowe estate, popular with the public and politicians but not particularly useful when most of the 'crims' are in cars or on scooters around here.
I try to ignore the little prick who keeps circling in his rust bucket Metro, shouting out of the window in an attempt to get a rise out of me. Briefly entertain the thought of CS'ing him in the eyes on the next lap round and dragging him out by his throat, but decide against it, I can't be bothered with the paperwork after.
A small group of young children are crouching down around something on the floor up a side alley. They've probably got an average age of four or five, but doubtless they'll still be running around unsupervised when I clock off in the early hours.
“ Hi there, guys, what are you up to?”
“ Fuck off you nonce.” The reply from a dirty faced scrap of a boy wearing ripped jeans and a yellowing vest, who screws up his face into what I presume is supposed to be an attempt at intimidation.
I clock what is on the floor before I can reply. It is a cat. A dead one judging by the pen-knife in the center of its head and the expansive pool of blood that it is lying in.
I crouch down and remove the knife folding the blade away, then drop it into the pouch on my utility belt.
“ Go home, now.” I resist the urge to shout, but allow the anger to register visibly in my eyes and features before switching it back off again. The children scatter, even these mini-adults, devoid of the usual innocence that pass for kids here, know danger when they see it, and I leave the dead cat where it is, beyond my help now.
A dense black cloud of smoke is rising over the rooftops, coming from the unintentionally humorously titled 'green' at the center of the estate; older kids playing 'snooker' as usual no doubt, but I'd better go and take a look. The heavy chemical choke of pungent burning rubber
* * *
I wake with the familiar tang of copper in my mouth, as if the line between past and present had finally ruptured. Jade green dots dance in my vision tormenting me with the specter of memory, and the wind sighs amongst the trees with the noise of a sated lover, the cool contrast of the breeze striking my feverish skin, whispering fragmented syllables of comfort into my ears. I sit up disorientated, trying to clear her out of my head, and Ghost looks at me solemnly, short on sympathy as ever.
“ I can't undo what's been done, can't bring either of them back with sorrow alone, so don't start.”
Picking up his lead I stand, still unsteady but rapidly returning to my senses, and start to head back towards the car. The dog follows reluctantly in my wake, making loud huffing noises to signal his displeasure. He affects an obnoxious attitude that I probably deserve since I'm so often distant and lost amongst the tattered threads of thoughts, ignoring my progress in any given direction and striking out alone on his own routes.
After my initial frustration at the dog's behavior subsides I find myself laughing quietly, Ghost returns to an approximation of obedience shortly afterward, presumably happy that his point has now been well made.
“ I'd ask what I did to deserve a smart arse for a pet, but I guess it's entirely appropriate.” I ruffle the fur between his ears firmly.
* * *
The afternoon shift is mundane drudgery of the worst variety, an assortment of crap jobs successfully avoided by the day shift for me to sort out, and little in the way of excitement coming in on the radio. Marcus is on a day off for time in lieu and I end up on foot patrol around Broxtowe estate, popular with the public and politicians but not particularly useful when most of the 'crims' are in cars or on scooters around here.
I try to ignore the little prick who keeps circling in his rust bucket Metro, shouting out of the window in an attempt to get a rise out of me. Briefly entertain the thought of CS'ing him in the eyes on the next lap round and dragging him out by his throat, but decide against it, I can't be bothered with the paperwork after.
A small group of young children are crouching down around something on the floor up a side alley. They've probably got an average age of four or five, but doubtless they'll still be running around unsupervised when I clock off in the early hours.
“ Hi there, guys, what are you up to?”
“ Fuck off you nonce.” The reply from a dirty faced scrap of a boy wearing ripped jeans and a yellowing vest, who screws up his face into what I presume is supposed to be an attempt at intimidation.
I clock what is on the floor before I can reply. It is a cat. A dead one judging by the pen-knife in the center of its head and the expansive pool of blood that it is lying in.
I crouch down and remove the knife folding the blade away, then drop it into the pouch on my utility belt.
“ Go home, now.” I resist the urge to shout, but allow the anger to register visibly in my eyes and features before switching it back off again. The children scatter, even these mini-adults, devoid of the usual innocence that pass for kids here, know danger when they see it, and I leave the dead cat where it is, beyond my help now.
A dense black cloud of smoke is rising over the rooftops, coming from the unintentionally humorously titled 'green' at the center of the estate; older kids playing 'snooker' as usual no doubt, but I'd better go and take a look. The heavy chemical choke of pungent burning rubber
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