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Semi-Precious Stones - 1. The Broken Doll This is a story I started writing a few years ago. I have been asked to repost it, so here is some of it. 1. The broken doll She lay face down in the dirt like some forgotten doll discarded by a spoilt . A plaything, a toy, once treasured, once loved and adored, now tossed aside, broken and abandoned, her owner having found other interests to occupy their mind. The morning sun danced across her porcelain skin. The ivory whiteness of her naked flesh emphasised the reddened abrasions on her wrists and ankles. Weal marks criss-crossed her back and buttocks in varying degrees of healing. Her long ebony hair, glistening in the brightness of a new day, spilled across her shoulder and onto the rough, untended ground. Knight was glad she lay face down. In such small mercies he found some solace. He had no wish to see her like this. There was no desire to see her face; her breasts; the smoothness he knew would be there. He knew she would be beautiful, knew that at another time, in another place, he would have found her irresistible: a woman who would turn men’s heads, turn their thoughts; a woman who would have turned his head. He knew he would have wanted her. But not like this. Not here, not now. He nodded to the figures in forensic suits sharing hushed conversations at the limit of the blue and white police tape cordon flapping in the light breeze. They came forward with body bag and stretcher. Knight turned away to save himself the agony of witnessing her rolled, manipulated and zipped away. Then he saw the woman watching. Even from this distance he could tell she was no random spectator. The discovery of a body was always cause for groups to gather, gawkers come to watch and whisper, but here, in the middle of a disused industrial estate, there could be no accidental passer-by breaking from their routine to watch the police at work. He picked his way slowly across the empty space between them, his eyes a searchlight on the floor, seeking clues and evidence, but all the while flicking imperceptibly in her direction to ensure she remained at her watching post. He knew that she knew his pretence was little more than pantomime, a means of getting close enough to make contact, but they both played out the game until there was no more than feet between them. Knight finally looked up and met her gaze with the weary smile of a man well versed in the breaking of bad news. He found himself surprised by how tall she stood. She wore a long black coat which fell below the knee, hiding the top of the heeled boots which brought her only slightly short of his six-foot-two frame. Despite her height and the heavy coat, its collar turned up around the side of her face, she seemed delicate and fragile, like she might fracture without warning - perhaps without reason. Her skin was pale; she wore a dark red lipstick. Her hair, though tucked inside the coat, was coal-diamond black and shimmered in the sunlight. Sadness seeped from within her and cast her in its shadow but could not hide the beauty of her heart-shaped face. “Her name is Amber,” she said without encouragement, but in tones that felt as if the words had been<b> torn </font></b>from her against her will. “Can you tell me Amber’s surname?” Knight asked. “I only knew her as Amber.” “And you? What’s your name, Miss…?” He left the question hang in the cool air between them. She began to speak but stopped herself. Knight waited, knowing the power of silence. “Jade,” she said at last. “My name is Jade.” “Jade? Do you have a surname Jade?” “My name is Jade,” she said definitively. “What can you tell me about Amber, Jade?” “She was my friend.” A stray tear rolled down her cheek. “Can you tell me what happened here,” said Knight, desperate to maintain the dialogue. She shook her head with a minimum of movement. “I have to go,” she said at last. “I’ll need to speak to you again,” said Knight, making no effort to stop her as she turned to walk away. “I know,” she said. Knight watched her glide back onto the pavement that sprouted weeds, rough grasses and broken glass alongside a road that was never used. He wondered how she had got here. He had stationed uniformed officers around the site when they first arrived, but none had reported any vehicles. There had been no announcement of her arrival since, by car or on foot. She grew ever smaller as the distance between them increased, not once turning back, and he wondered whether he would be close to her again. Finally, she turned a corner and disappeared behind another building left to rot and fester as boom became bust. He stared into the void she had left behind for a minute, perhaps two, before eventually turning back to see her friend, Amber, now sheathed in black plastic, carried towards the waiting vehicle by men who would never know her name. |
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Oh, you have me crying. this is so sad, I am not sure if I should read more. Sir, I fear for the one walking away.
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