Her sister's wedding.


The sex was clumsy, fumbled, awkward and prolonged, or at least it
might have been if they were not suddenly interrupted by the power
being restored and the fluorescent light above them flickering
stutteringly back and flooding the room. He had been thinking no
further than the end of his appendage and she was too utterly wasted
to be thinking straight at all. The stark light showed her to be
crying without a sound, mascara black etching lines on her whiter than
pale skin. In a moment of utter tenderness he pulled down the sleeve
of his shirt and gently wiped away the charcoal tears. Ashamed and
terrified she quickly pulled at her skirt covering the traces of
needles on her thighs and ran from the room.


She woke the next day in a cold sweat and panic her head throbbed with
such a savage intensity that it might burst, she prayed it would,
that she could die on the spot.


* Peadar O'Donoghue says “I have had poetry published in Ireland in Poetry Ireland Review, The Shop and Revival. I lived for many years In England. I blog at http://totalfeckineejit.blogspot.com/ and have no certainty about what I think about anything but writing helps me set at least a few co-ordinates in the cosmos to steady
myself.”