Grand Blood

Everytime her nostrils move she can almost feel the blood about to explode down her nose. She hasn't stopped listening to opera music all day. Someone had said to her they disliked opera because the arias were too long, but she loved it, as she pressed an embroidered hanky against her face.

In the mirror occasionally, a white space, her face. She wants to put on her old shoes and glide across the floorboards to the music. Instead she is solitary on a bed, tucked in, with an empty tea cup awaiting more hot water.

Beat beat! The drum declares to her heart. She always related this bit with heartbreak and first kisses. Why, she wasn't sure.

Blood. Her head down. No more tea. Just ice stacked against her spasmed neck while the music went on and rose red spilled into ink blots on a towel.