The etchings have faded from her stand, leaving half-words: Briseis Fair. The name of the lady immortalised in stone? From one angle, she is cast in pose dancing with devilish delight in her own world, as diamonds gleam across her neck. But her beauty was destroyed in the dead-light, as I turned to face her anew. Splayed hands grasp for air, stiffer than a corpse as her mouth screams. Spliced neck, she claws at the guttural wound, shaped like lips around her throat— another mouth for The Father to kiss goodnight. Bleeding diamond rivulets of cold, dead stone. Briseis Fair, with the beauty of a blooming rose, plucked soon, too soon.
What do you think? Let me know in the comments below, or by liking and sharing! Don’t be afraid to share your opinion!
(This was posted on the 21st of August by mistake–before the first part; so here it is again!)
© Thomas Gallimore Barker, 2021