Graham Thomas

Baby safe, I’m safe! Survived the Tsar’s apocalypse! Angeline gone! Gone! Turned to dust! Here’s what happened. Apologies first, I am so rattled and too panicked to write coherently.

Paisley’s leg is twitching. Must be dreaming. Hope it is of happier times. Playing with his master. Chewing a bone. He is a great companion. Love him dearly.

Angeline could not recall to me her life and so instead she recalled to me a dream. The smoky cataract in her ‘good eye’ cleared. She smiled. I glimpsed her wooden dentures. Around me the replicated diners and waiters went through their routines.

Night-time within the embrace of the Exxon Valdez. The woman is sleeping with her head on my lap, the bustle of her dress a maroon waterfall. Her lace collar is undone, exposing her neck. Clear sign she is comfortable. No rings on fingers. Loose ringlets in hair. Slender neck. Old and young.