Blood Lite by Kevin J Anderson

Author:Kevin J Anderson [Anderson, Kevin J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Horror, Fiction, Anthologies (Multiple Authors)
ISBN: 9781416567837
Google: KNbinAEACAAJ
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 2871256
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2008-10-21T08:00:00+00:00

Dear Prudence

Steven Savile

Miller held the pen poised over the scrap of paper, thinking about what he would write.

My Dearest Darling Prudence, Just nipped out to the shop to buy a packet of cigarettes. I might pop into the pub for a quick pint, catch up with some of the lads and watch the second half of the game. You know me and football. So, if you come back and I am not here, don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you, singing and dancing if we win, sulking and in need of some TLC if we don’t. Hope you had a great night out with the girls.

Your fool in love, Miller

No, that wasn’t quite what he wanted to say.

My Darling Pru,

Just nipped out to the shop for a packet of cigarettes. I’m gasping here. I feel like I’m living in Old Mother Hub-bard’s house. There’s nothing in the cupboard, not even a digestive to munch on. There was a time when twenty a day would do me, then I met you. Now I could smoke for England. Could there be a link? I think I’ll drop into the pub on the way home, watch whatever’s left of the match, have a smoke and listen to some idiots talking about how crap the game is while I drown my sorrows. You know me and football. I’d rather sit in a smoky bar in the company of drunken strangers than alone in the house while you gallivant here, there and everywhere. I’m sure we’ll lose, so most likely I’ll be a bear with a sore head when I get in. Not that you’ll notice. You never do. I might as well be a Ken doll you can put away in his box when you’re finished playing with him—only I’m not as flexible these days. I feel about as sexless, though. That’s a form of torture in some countries, I’m sure. Melting the genitals. If it isn’t, it ought to be. Women of the world could unite in emasculating their men. Life in plastic. It’s fantastic.

Your love toy, Miller

Better, but still not right. There was so much more inside him he wanted to say.

Dear Prudence,

Won’t you come out—no, I promised myself I wouldn’t

do that anymore. I used to think it was cute you were named after my favourite song. Now, I can think of so many more appropriate tunes, but the one that immediately comes to mind sounds like a love song but isn’t. It’s funny, it always ends up on these greatest love song collections but its evil. That’s why it fits. “Feels Like Heaven.” Only instead of love its about twisting the bones until they snap, the poor sod screaming without anyone being able to hear his pain. That’s me. Screaming and snapping while you twist.

Well, you know what? I’m sick of it. This worm’s turning, baby. Oh, hell yes. Screw romantic love songs for the bunch of crap they are. God, it’s liberating to say that. No more pretending that ours is the great

love.

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