I wasn't sure this was going, then an ending suggested itself. |
Tired from earlier exertions, when flames danced enthusiastically so eager to leap, roar, or spit pouring out heat and light and sound the fire settled, banked and comfortable well blanketed with coals The hearth glows and dims as the small house breathes draughts creeping unnoticed steal across the room to kiss the coals and make them blush Samuel, the aged cat, sits cottage loaf upon the rag rug spread altar cloth before the temple grate nothing disturbs his somnambulant prayers yet an ear might twitch or an eye open a slit and briefly reflect the cosy orange radiance. Asleep, in the wooden chair, drawn close to the fire where an hour before he had sat down heavily, boots kicked off and feet in well darned socks, spread towards the heat, exhausted damp and grubby from his nocturnal labours is Adam. On the table behind him are the fruits of his efforts two rabbits and a hare their eyes glassy, fur matted and bloody at the neck The wires that wrought their deaths, now reset and ready for other unsuspecting victims. From the next room the gentle snore of Adam's wife Mary disturbs neither man nor cat from their own deep slumbers. Outside the damp has given way to serious rain that splatters and streaks the windows traipses across the roof seeking ingress, and finding none lashes futile at the door before gurgling failure, it drains into the large wooden butt busy by the back door. On the mantelpiece is the clock wound with chapel regularity every Sunday it shows an hour so late that it might be early. Beneath the clock, unopened is an envelope with foreign stamp. Neither Adam nor Mary can read. Tomorrow Mary will take the letter to the Pastor, who will silently curse her ignorance as he struggles to find the words and tell her that her son is dead. |