One million dollars in between her fingers,
Chipped blue nail-varnish.
A cigarette; a tired frowning mouth.
Black denim jeans.
A petrol station, expensive perfume on her neck.
A flower patterned halterneck, a bottle of liquor.
The faded sun hides behind cloud bodyguards.
The woman is alone at midday,
The breeze is cool, the alcohol is sweet, her tears are hot, the mascara runs black.
She's tired; is she lonely?
She's lost, but a lone hunter.
The girl is beautiful, mid 20's with dark rolling hair and freckles.
The girl is tragic.
She wipes her eyes and leans back against the red brick wall, half concealed in shadow.
She eats an apple.. takes of her worn leather sandals,
Sits on the hot dirt, then the rainclouds come.
Rain falls and chills her clothes and skin.
She applies pale pink lipstick and calls a taxi from the payphone.
......
White peonies, 300 or more.
Dark oak coffin.
A lady in a grey fur coat, an embroidered handkerchief.
Tears, blonde hair, the smell of hairspray.
A young couple with dark eyes and bronze skin, their hands grasped.
'True Colours', a male pianist, stained glass, high ceiling, arches.
Loneliness.
Heartache.
Loss of friendship.
Aching.
Hopeful,
Fingers crossed.
Will love enter and lightning strike some wonder into the girl-woman's life?
.......
She holds her sister's cold porcelain-white hand, stops a moment to take in the tattoo of a shallow in black ink.
Elisa,
Gone.
29 years old.
Always one year between them but there might as well have been 20.
It's been four months since they met for coffee out near
the motorway where Helen was working at the time.
A golden locket; Helen places it around her sister's slim neck.
