The Cold Sun by James Newman


Like a little child.

I listened to her scream and shout in bed every night like a cat caught in a thunderstorm. At first I thought she was being stabbed to death by the men who entered the house and then I realized she was.

Stuck in my bedroom I dared not enter her domain. I watched TV, cartoons mainly and drank milkshakes and ate ice-cream.

Downstairs she hit the bottle and she hit it hard. Red wine and Neil Young records, Rolling Stones and a variety of men who came and went stabbing her with their promises until the sun rose in the morning and the birds sang and the ghosts disappeared as if they had never haunted her bedroom. As if I didn’t exist. As if I were nothing.

Just a child.

One day the hunter appeared. It was winter and the trees were skeletal and ground blanketed with dead leaves. The cold sun rose above the mountains beyond the cottage where deer ran and buzzards circled, their fan tails spread out like maple leaves. I watched him from the bedroom window. His hair blond and shoulders wide wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. He was handsome, new, brave, and she knew best. She liked him. He had children in another village, a wife, his wife and kids he reassured, were all history now. Alone and looking for company.

The sex grew more intense. The screams louder, the hunter was taking her to places she had never been before.

Each night it grew more intense.

Be quiet I warned him once, to which, he offered me a pair of earplugs.

I tried wearing them but the rubber was moist and used.

After several weeks of this, I dragged myself from my wheelchair. I hadn’t tried before. But it worked, my arms were strong, like a snake I pulled myself into her bedroom. A red lamp and they were doing it. I picked up the shot gun that the hunter kept by the bed.

Raised myself with my hands.

Shot the fucker once.


Spread his face across the pillow. A beautiful rainbow of reds, blues and orange. She grabbed the barrel. I beat her to it. The second slug fired her face into the arms of her lover.

Cerebral palsy, is a life sentence.

But so is marriage.

And jail.

Thus is Life.

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