Snog, Marry, Curse

Joanne Key

“Too much blusher” the third husband says. He spits on a tissue and scrubs my cheeks. I burn the tissue with a pinch of salt. Steal a drop of blood while he sleeps.

Write his name on a broken mirror. Draw a tree around it with green eyeliner. Bury everything in the woods.

In the morning, he’ll wake up stiff, towering over everything, wondering why he can’t move or call for help. His voice is no more than a rustle.

I promise to visit soon.

Smile as number four carves a heart into him, my new name at the centre.

This story was a joint winner of the People’a Prize vote in the October 2021 Monthly Micro Competition.

About the author: Joanne Key lives in Cheshire. She writes poetry and short fiction.