Click here to hear the author read his tale, but pretend he’s a woman, okay:
The weak winter sunlight creates vaguely coloured beams as it struggles through the stained glass window below which I sit with bowed head, hands clasped, the bottle of redemption held tightly between them, and I mumble meaningless words to a God I no longer believe in.
My mind drifts back to when I saw Julie, my best friend, my flatmate, my soul sister, greeting Terry, the man I love, the man I hoped and prayed that someday I’d marry, with a wide smile and a hug.
I follow them and peer through the window of Chisholm Hunter Jewellers in the Argyll Arcade, where she slips an engagement ring onto her finger and turns her dancing, evil eyes up to his handsome, treacherous face.
They arrive home much later, giggling like children, she too pretty and he too charming to ever have been trusted.
I wait until they have drunk the coffee, and then I take the card from her still warm dead hand, and read ‘Congratulations, Sis, you two make the perfect couple’, and see the inscription, with his name and mine, inside the ring.
I abandon my prayer, and raise the bottle to my lips.