Handbag

The handbag had been left on the end of the bar. It was bright pink, made of a smooth, glossy material that shone in the light. It sat in the lonely space for over an hour before one of the bartenders grabbed it. Nervous, but glad no-one had decided to steal it, the young woman with purple pigtails, Becky, scanned the room.

This place was hardly a club, but too big and full of music to be a bar. She’d been on her feet from seven till eleven, and the fun wasn’t stopping. Students and locals came here often, and Becky was astonished but also proud to see the huge variety in people. Not long ago, it wouldn’t have been normal for black people, gays, lesbians, and transgender people to mix in one group, and yet, here they were, together. It made her grateful for her job: at this time of night, she could see people of her own age being free, in a place where differences didn’t matter.

Noticing her colleagues were busy, Becky held the bag in her hand, fingering her lip piercing with her spare finger. She thought she should keep it by, in case someone came to collect it.

At that moment, however, someone walked over to the bar; or, more accurately, tumbled onto it – a young girl, slim and white-skinned, dark hair damp, either from dancing or alcohol, Becky thought. She took a moment to compose herself before meeting Becky’s eyes with her very drunk ones.

“That bag,” the girl slurred, jabbing a finger at the item in question.

“Oh,” Becky answered, feeling relieved. She shouted over the volume of the music. “It’s yours!”

“No, it’s my friend’s.”

“Oh!”

The girl was reaching her hand out eagerly, so seeing no other option, Becky gave her the bag. “Any drinks for you?” she asked the girl in her professional tone.

All she got was a disorientated shake of the head before she stumbled away. Becky was afraid the girl was going to fall over before someone who clearly knew her came to her aid, holding her waist with his hands.

A tall young man, with hair dyed purple just like Becky’s, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a great deal of glittery makeup on his eyelids, cheeks, and lips. And it was him who gratefully took the pink handbag from his friend’s grasp.

Becky couldn’t help but smile as the guy hung it proudly from his shoulder. It looked almost alien against his flannel shirt and jeans, but if she’d learned anything from observing the people here, it was to expect the unexpected.

She was sure he caught her eye mischievously just before she resumed her work.

Her Blood

It doesn’t seem the forest will provide cover from the horrors that stalk her. No matter how far she runs, she'll always be found again. It may not be obvious to the predators, but she is terrified. They just don't stop to notice the fear in her eyes.

She runs for the forest because it’s all she knows. It doesn’t matter if she can’t escape there, or if she can’t hide in a hole without being dug up. This place is her life. It is where she will bear her young, so she can take them to all the best areas for feeding, and give them a normal life. Not much else exists apart from the forest. She will explore open ground a lot to search for food, but the comfort within the enveloping trees can't be replaced. 

She uses her agile legs to run along the pathway, hopping nimbly over logs and thorns, hoping the home that has protected her for so long will protect her this time.

She remembers the predators. There were bright colours: an unusual red, harnessed by the beings on the horses. There are loud, shrill noises that ring out and hurt her ears. It seems the ones in red emit them somehow. 

That’s when the other animals come. They’re the dangerous ones, with their barking, their strong legs, and their gnashing teeth. They’re the ones that come for her, aiming for her neck. She’s only just escaped them, and she knows she’ll have to escape them a few more times yet. 

For a moment, there’s a rush of excitement, because she’s seen a burrow. She’s not sure if it’s hers or not, but she doesn’t spare a moment to consider it, rushing to the entrance. She panics as she struggles to fit her swollen belly inside, her agitated claws scrabbling against the ground. With luck, the cubs won’t be disturbed.

The burrow is not hers, she realises. The smell is different. Despite that, it is still comforting; the warmth of it, and the space so small that nothing can reach her. She curls into a fetal position, trying to avoid detection. Perhaps the owner of this burrow will find her and drive her out, but somehow, this is far less threatening than the idea of the predators finding her. She would gladly tackle one of her kind than the aliens who won’t leave her alone.

Other options are becoming less feasible, however, as her ears prick up to sickeningly familiar sounds: howling and snarling, reeking with bloodlust, muffled in the distance, but drawing closer. She panics, but she doesn’t run. It’s like every muscle has seized up within her.

The sounds draw closer. Maybe there’ll be more than the sharp teeth. All of them will find her, and they will outnumber her easily. One against a pack. 

Frightened, she wrenches herself out of the ground with difficulty as the sounds get too close for her liking. But she’s already too late when she emerges. 

An animal pounces on her with a bark, jaw latching around her neck. Teeth sink into her back. Paws pin her down so she is wriggling in desperation. The deafening barks and howls that would remind one of demons drown out her cries of pain as she is slowly overcome. The cubs are moving within her womb. She can feel them as she loses blood, her fur becoming matted, quickly being ripped from her body. 

She’s wheezing as the limbs begin to disappear, taken from her effortlessly. The pack bays in satisfaction as her vision grows faint. She can hear the shrill calls again. The sound of hooves.

A cub paws against her as if to get out.

And then, slowly, but surely, she feels nothing.

*

“Pregnant?” 

“Yes.”

He examines the fox corpse with a calm satisfaction as he holds it by the tail. The thing has a large belly, he’s noticed. Too large. That won’t do at all.

“So…?”

He doesn’t reply to his comrade, dropping the dead creature to the ground and slamming his foot into the body without hesitation. It becomes flatter with every stomp, colouring the forest floor red as everything spills out. The younger man watches, feeling a sickness rise within him. There isn’t just blood. More bodies litter the ground, smaller versions of the prize they’ve won.  For a minute, he is fascinated by the little things.

But none of them last long, thanks to the impossible power of the human foot.

Guest

A blonde woman slept on Angelica’s sofa one night. Her face was tired, her freckles blotchy on her pale cheeks. Her hair was a mess around her shoulders, and she looked like a worm wrapped in blankets.

There was only one problem.

Angelica lived alone. No-one was supposed to be sleeping here.

In fact, she was in for quite the shock when she caught sight of the stranger on her sofa. She’d come down in her dressing gown to make morning coffee, not expecting to glance at the adjacent room and see someone else in her home. 

Regardless, she kept calm – even when the woman heard the floorboards creaking, prompting her to turn around. Her eyes were sleepy, but she looked terrified at being caught in such a position.

“I… uh…”

“Hello,” Angelica said warmly. “Are you comfortable?”

The stranger blinked, probably wondering how to read Angelica’s question. But Angelica wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, or threatening. What would be the point in that?

“Um…”

“My name’s Angelica. Angie’s fine, though. I’m guessing you got in through the patio doors? Those things are always blowing open in the night.”

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude!” the woman suddenly blurted out, her words a fast flurry that went by in seconds. “I’m homeless – the weather was freezing, I had nowhere to…”

“It’s all right, sweetheart.”

Angelica went to the kitchen counter, grabbing a tin that stood in the corner and approaching the sofa with it. The woman looked nervous for a moment, but appeared soothed by her host’s warm smile.

“Here.” Angelica removed the lid as she held out the tin. “These were my husband’s favourites. I hope you like them too.”

She looked taken aback, like she'd never seen a biscuit tin before. Angelica noticed her chapped lips, the thin, hunched shoulders. When she continued to hesitate, the older lady picked out a biscuit and offered it to her. 

“Please. I insist.”

Slowly, a smile – a grateful one – before the sleepy woman took the offering.

Mongrel

Marty isn’t sure how to carry on after his family abandons him.

One moment life was perfect – he had everything he needed: people to care for him, smile at him, give him love. The next moment, it’s all stripped away, and he will never know why.

He’s lying on the hard ground, the rough earth chafing his belly. The junkyard is nothing but scrapped metal and old cars, lifeless skeletons turning brown with rust. Marty never understood what they were, but he knew they meant something to his family. Now they’re abandoned, just like him. Right now, he’s just a piece of scrapped equipment, no different to the things around him.

It’s as if he can feel himself starting to rust. His coat has been thinning over the last few months. His bones are more rigid, pressing sharply against his skin as if they’re trying to push their way out. His nose twitches as he rests his chin on his front legs, hoping he can fall asleep. But with cars soaring past him on the main road and the absence of someone to scratch him behind the ears, he knows that isn’t possible.