Yesterday I had a three hour train journey yesterday and Louise Doughty's 'Apple Tree Yard' to read - a story told in first person and full of adulterous sex (and huge tension). I was using as a bookmark the scrap of paper I'd written the three prompt words from Prediction Fiction on, and had to break off reading to write the following, so loud it was clamouring in my head (and so obviously influenced by my reading).
Under the fullness of the moon
Neither of us was to blame. It was not a situation where blame could be attached. Was not a fairy-tale prince and princess, pink and glittery; sweet and smelling of roses story told in moon and June, love and dove type verse, but a fast and furious wet and sweat, buck and fuck coming together. Smelling of semen, bruised weeping leaves and dirty, earthy sex.
After – a month or so after, when the shouting had become silence – my most abiding memory was of the yellow startled eyes of the dog fox, seemingly transfixed by the rocking of our tangled limbs.
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