Girl in Profile by Zillah Bethell

Bible says I can do anything from Him who gives me strength. My cellie got me a sticker we put on the shaving mirror. God loves you but everyone else thinks you’re a jerk. I’ve got another one too. How’s a marriage like a hurricane? First there’s lots of blowing and then you lose the house. I hope that sounds decent.
    Your description of the ballet was really good. I can almost picture some of it. Nature has some super ways to show her beauty, but some like you can describe it. I walked the beach by the Gulf of Mexico one time. It was down on the west side of Florida, south of Tampa by Cape Corral or Fort Myers. It was peaceful. Something about the sound of waves really can bring peace to a weary mind. You have to listen for it, but it’s there. I learnt to swim from a young age, and if I say so myself I was pretty decent. I also loved to dive off diving boards. I’ve had limited experience at much height, but I have dived between forty and forty-five feet. It was on a canoe trip, and man what a rush. Seemed like you could count the seconds before you hit the water. Other canoeists applauded me for my efforts.

Gwen
    Me
    Being what people expect.
    By fear, following them.
    Resolution.
    No longer to shrink before people.
    Do not let the world overcome you.
    Try to ignore the unkindness of people, the impoliteness of people, want of money, ill health, my sins, pleasures of the world, fear of the world.

I Attempt to Justify the Choices I’ve Made
    A beautiful life is one perhaps lived in the shadows, but regular, ordered, harmonious.

Moth
    The Vet’s
    We sit in the waiting room next to an old woman with a ginger cat in a basket. Ro and Dove hold Mr Stinks between them. Roan is silent, his eyes like grass after rain. Dove half prattles, half sobs. “I’ll never stop crying,” she whispers in Mr Stinks’ ear, “if you don’t get better.”
    Jamie and Max are looking at gifts sold in aid of (how ironic) the RSPCA. Jamie farts a whoopee cushion incessantly and Max shines a torch at the ginger cat in the basket until the old woman asks me to tell my son to stop doing that please.
    My son. Fuck off.
    â€œMr Stinks Dainty?” Thank God. But we really do need to change his name.
    The vet is young with prematurely greying hair in a plait down his back.
    â€œWhy’s he wearing a bobble?” Max whispers.
    I babble the story about the foxes for the third time that day while the vet runs his nail-bitten fingers over Mr Stinks, murmuring, “Poor old lad, what have they done to you?
    â€œDid the foxes attack him? He’s got a nasty bite on his throat.”
    â€œI don’t think so. They seemed so weak.” Jamie is smiling, and I notice suddenly that his teeth are very pointed as if he sharpens them daily on something. “I’m not really sure. I suppose it’s not impossible.”
    â€œHe’ll need a tetanus if he’s not up to date. And a couple of stitches. There’s some swelling too. Either his collar’s too tight or someone’s applied a ligature.”
    â€œWhat’s a ligature?” asks Dove.
    â€œA length of rope, possibly.”
    I do not even attempt to meet Jamie’s wildly travelling left eye.
    â€œI’ll prescribe some anti-inflammatories and painkillers. He’ll probably find it hard to eat for a few days. Poor old lad, what have they done to you? I’m afraid to say that this is the sort of case that almost needs reporting to the RSPCA.”
    You’re fucking kidding me.
    â€œBut as he’s in such good condition apart from that, I think we’ll put it down to misadventure.”
    Half an hour later Roan carries Stitches (as we’re calling him now) out to the car.
    â€œJob done,” smiles Jamie, his voice positively radiating light. “That’s what my mum always says afterwards. Job done.”
    Afterwards? After what?

Elizabeth
    Regrets/Shade/Old Apples
    We