Fiction

Heart

The heart wants what the heart wants. She pondered on this as she watched her hero, her muse, twisting and cavorting on stage. Her heart knew what her heart wanted, and today it would receive it’s gift. It was glad. 

Later, as she hunched in a pool of congealing blood, the phrase came back to her, and she giggled around a mouthful of chewy flesh. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet, the half-chewed organ clutched  tight in her hand, and tracked bloody footprints into her sanctuary. She gazed around, for the millionth time, at her beautiful creation. Pictures, news items, hand-scribbled notes, set-lists, all connected in a vast and tangled web of heart-lines. Just one space left, in a whole room full of desire. She placed the mangled heart into its place, and watched the blood spread across her network. 

It’s what the heart wanted. 

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