She bit the inside of her mouth hard. She tasted rust.
Staring at her husband a tired wife contemplated the buzzing sound in her ears. He had turned to look out of the lounge room, out and away over the misted eucalypts. It had closed over with rain again. Everything had closed over.
There really wasn’t any point in talking about it, she thought. We’ve been here. His arms were folded and she couldn’t read his face. So instead she concentrated on the thought of mercury, imagining it rising up through her skin. It didn’t take long to feel molten metal coursing through veins and starting up a beat in that pulse just behind her eyes.
“I’m sick of trying,” his voice coming over the sound of her whooshing pulse. Blinking, she thought ‘must focus’. There was a dried up blowfly on the window sill.
She chewed her cuticle. Her fingers smelt of the metallic bar off the bus. When she’d travelled home from the clinic that afternoon the bus had leant over around a corner. She’d held on hard to the bar, her stomach muscles bracing to hold her up, one arm folded over her belly. There had been that familiar sensation, the muscles tightening and then the release.
“It’s been months now, and it always ends the same way,” he intoned. She returned to here and now, eyes running over the back of his head.
The mist had risen a little more.
She wanted to lift her arms to her husband, this man she had entwined with. She wanted to tell him that this feeling would pass. It always had before. And then they could try again. There was always next time. But her arms were full of metals, flooded and dense; it might take years to lift them.
He sighed; the sound was the most normal thing in the world.
She felt the tightening and release of her muscles as her body let go. Without surprise she acknowledged the flood of iron that poured from her, carrying with it dreams and hopes.
There was always next month. Next month.
Twisted Tales – prompt Precious Metals (TTST50)