Eleanor Matthews

A Minor Nocturne - An Extract

She spat at his feet. Her target was the polished boot that lay near her face, but her bile fell short and hit the concrete near where she’d fallen. “Don’t want you dossing in a corner, it’s against health and safety to allow vagrants,” the guard had spluttered loudly, pushing her out of the station. He’d added, sotto voce, something about “fucking AIDs-ridden tramps”. That’s when she’d opined that she hoped his cock rotted off, and found herself lying on the pavement. Cider always did make her unsteady on her feet.

            Getting up, she gathered in her sheath of clothes. The plastic bags stuffed between the layers for insulation rustled comfortingly. On her way to the park, she dipped into the bins behind Pret to salvage some sandwiches. She’d lost her appetite of late, but knew the mallards, poachards, coots and moorhens would be hungry. Less people went to feed them in winter, but that was when they needed it most. A good layer of fat to keep out the cold.

 

 

Eleanor Matthews writes sparse and succinct copy for her day job, but has a secret predilection for big words and small fictions. Her stories have been published in various places, including Popshot, Prole and Ink, Sweat and Tears.

@efmatthews :  www.eleanormatthews.co.uk

The complete story A Minor Nocturne can be found in Volume 9