Chop-chop
Antony Reid writes multi-genre fiction and poetry from a curious spit of land between the Dee, the Mersey and the Irish Sea where he tries to keep company with ‘the gold-hearted silver-tongued and quicksilver-minded’. He e-published a novella, A Smaller Hell, a few years ago, and is seeking representation for several novels, a feature screenplay and TV pilot.
Somewhere in the valleys, there is a butcher’s shop window with no meat in it. The bright light is on and the butcher stands at his chopping board, one hand on his cleaver and the other over his heart. Snow pats against the window emblazoned with his name.
Everyone will know of his failure.
His weakness.
He lifts his head and checks the clock next to the bright blue insecto-cutor. Only another hour until opening time and still nothing chopped. He wonders whether he has been changed forever by the dream. His shaky hand lays down the
