The Protector

By Louis Brierley 

from my little window

I watch him leave at five-thirty and arrive at ten-thirty

and I give him my best smile

he turns away

and runs inside

and locks all doors and windows firmly

I sigh and know he is safe

but if problems arise

I have my own keys

 *

now

he is peering out through a crack in the curtain and

I know he has found my gift:

the photo I placed on his pillow

 *

the next day

I find it in the

rubbish

the rain is ill yellow but

my tears are clear

*

so

that night

between five-thirty and ten-thirty

I walk through rain in my best blue shirt

and unlock his door

but it is bolted

from the inside

I scream into the rain and

strike the flags with

my hatchet

a stone chip cuts the corner of my eye

and I weep crimson

into the rain

whispering I Love You.

 *

from my little window

I watch his yard at ten-thirty

but he is not back

and at eleven-thirty

he is not back

the blood has caked on my cheek

and I am having trouble seeing

so perhaps he has already returned

 *

I go out again

I am a good neighbour

I am concerned

but as I approach his door

I hear laughing

 *

he is with a Girl

not the mother, nor the sister

I know

I have photos of them

but a new Girl

and she is making him

laugh

 *

they see me

they stop laughing

and I

with tears on one cheek and

crimson streaming down the other

my hatchet in my hand

say I Love You.

**

Louis Brierley is a young writer of speculative fiction. He is in his first year of English and Creative Writing at MMU. He is also currently approaching publishers with his novel, ‘Flames of Peace’