She’s buried beneath a silver birch tree, downtowards the old train tracks, her grave marked witha cairn. Not more than a little pile of stones, really. Ididn’t want to draw attention to her resting place,but I couldn’t leave her without remembrance. She’llsleep peacefully there, no one to disturb her, nosounds but birdsong and the rumble of passingtrains.
One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl?.?.?.
Three for a girl. I’m stuck on three, I just can’t getany further. My head is thick with sounds, mymouth thick with blood. Three for a girl. I can hearthe magpies—they’re laughing, mocking me, a raucouscackling. A tiding. Bad tidings. I can see them now,black against the sun. Not the birds, something else.
Someone’s coming. Someone is speaking to me. Nowlook. Now look what you made me do.
One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl?.?.?.
Three for a girl. I’m stuck on three, I just can’t getany further. My head is thick with sounds, mymouth thick with blood. Three for a girl. I can hearthe magpies—they’re laughing, mocking me, a raucouscackling. A tiding. Bad tidings. I can see them now,black against the sun. Not the birds, something else.
Someone’s coming. Someone is speaking to me. Nowlook. Now look what you made me do.
