Shunt stone

She began to take the things off the shelf one by one,

first she took the radio and flung it against the wall and it came apart in three neat pieces, it reminded me of the time at work a fellow fell into a pressing machine and had his head split open. His body lay next to the top of his head, while the middle part, the brains and the rest, lay in a messy warm pile on the floor. The radio had three parts too, the back, the middle with all the electronics and the radio’s body. The only difference was the lack of blood. When that man died, there was blood everywhere, like wine from many smashed bottles.

Next she grabbed the children’s art they had made at school.

She flung these about, pages of paintings, clay sculptures, paddle pop stick things, all thrown and smashed.

Then there were two glass vases that went against the brick wall, they exploded with beauty and crystalline dreams. The powder floated for a moment in the air.

Last was a lamp. It was a woman holding up a light bulb with a delicate silk shade.

She held it in the air for a moment, taunting me, she knew I loved it, then she sent it to a shattering death across the room.

Breathing heavily, half naked she stood there looking at me. I looked down to her bare feet.

“Be careful you’ll step on some glass,” I said.

She raised her feet as if to stamp on the glass, she held her small well shaped foot there for a moment and I waited. But sensing it would hurt her more than me, she took it away, crossing the room carefully. She locked herself in the bathroom.

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