She woke up with the worst hangover, was it worth it ringing in her ears, or was that the beat of the music from the night before. Lottie sighed and her breath clung to her cheeks. Stale bear sweet sour smell of cherry cider. Her eyes ached, confused as to why yet again she had got into this mess. It dawned on her, the row, the screaming and bellowing of voices, the glass…..the blood. She bolted upright in the bed and the room spun like an out of control merry-go-round. Nausea, dizzy, fear, she froze. For a single moment she sat like a monumental statue on parade at an exhibition. Then her shoulders fell. Climbing tenderly from her unkempt bed clothes. Her feet icy as the slipped into her flip flops. Every bone ached, she felt heavy and unnerved. The row suffocating her being. The birds didn’t sing outside that day, and it seemed the sun was hiding carefully behind the dark rain soaked clouds. The bright flowers were dull in the garden and the grass more grey than green with a damp smell and the trees were bowing as if in prayer.

It was simple verdict as she stood there in her black trousers and starch ironed shirt. Her hair greasy, tied back with a simple blue band. Her eyes sunken as if in hiding and her skin dry and unmoisturised with a usual perfumed lotion.

Her tears never came that day, they have since though. She seemed apologetic for her actions but claims still it was retaliation, for the years of rape and abuse all blamed by alcohol, the evil substance.

GUILTY………………….she looked to his family and hung her head, a wry smile danced across her lips.

Kerry Fisher 31/5/2012