Thursday, December 19, 2002

Hi I'm Rachel and I'll be posting extracts from some gripping yarns.

He crossed the small kitchen and looked around him. The shabby wooden cupboards, doors leaning from their hinges, the dull grey of the aluminium saucepans stacked in the cracked enamel sink, the ancient gas cooker with one ring burning blud under the big pot. And Ruth's eyes, an accusing stare following him as he moved. Even with his back turned he could feel them burning into the skin at the nape of his neck. Ruth, who had entangled him in a way he had never dared to imagine.

He swung round, his right hand outstretched towards the gas hob, flicking the know from simmer to high. The water began to play around her nostrils. A few strands of her auburn hair had found their way over the rim of the pot, caught on the flame and sizzled, adding their pungency to the stench already in the room.

To render: a service, thanks, a song. To render invalid. To render speechless. How she used to render those miserable folk songs until he had rendered her speechless.

To render evil for evil. Now her was the one doing the rendering.