Friday, 24 August 2012


by Sandra Davies

Caged by guilt and shadowed bars of branding irons, breasts and belly besmirched by centuries of soot from the roof-supporting pillar he had lashed me to, I remained defiant.

“My face? Do you want the world to know?”

His eyes were anthracite-implacable.

“I mean to guarantee you’ll not lie down for another man. Fire is cleansing, only the letter negotiable. Before I gag you, do you choose A or W?”

“'Adulteress' more accurate, I do not charge.”

He had ever admired my honesty, my spirit, but I’d failed to think it through.

He smiled, acknowledging. “But 'whore' the shortest word.”

Author bio: Writer, printmaker, east-coast orientated.


  1. A comment from my mum, because blogger doesn't like her...

    Brilliant twist in the tail - especially if you know Nathaniel Hawthorne. Fantastic, thank you.