SHRINKING VIOLET

Vi was dying of cancer.
Over the recent past months she’d lost a lot of weight.
Her doctor said it was only a matter of time…

Ever since she was a little girl,
Vi wanted to be a florist.
She used to dream of selling flowers and plants,
And even types of trees—before she woke up in a forest.

But Vi never became a florist,
She never got the chance.
Just as when she went out with friends,
She was never asked to dance.

Instead, Vi worked as a stock-taker in a warehouse,
She remained single and typically drank on her own,
In her flat with a bottle of Famous Grouse.

All her life she’d been lonely and dissatisfied with her job,
She lost her virginity at the age of forty two—raped by a drunken yob.
Getting cancer was the last straw,
But it came as no surprise in a life so raw.

Before she died, Vi longed to sell some flowers,
So, to fulfil her dream, she stole a tray of Remembrance Day poppies.

It wasn’t quite like the real thing, but she didn’t mind.
Even after she was arrested and subsequently fined.

‘If I’m lucky,’ Vi thought. ‘I’ll die before I have to pay!’

 

 

 

 

THE END IS NIGH

The man holding a sign proclaiming: THE END IS NIGH stands in a puddle with holes in his shoes. A dog cocks its leg up to pee over his frayed trousers as passing youths jeer and spit at him. Then, it starts raining torrentially.

  Trudging home, soaking wet, he trips and falls losing his wallet. Without noticing, he gets up; and a speeding car runs him down throwing him over its bonnet. He limps heavily, bleeding internally, somehow managing to stagger off.

  Fire engines are in his street—his house is burning down! His wife and children are burned alive before the fire brigade can save them.

  ‘We’re deeply sorry for your loss, sir.’ A senior fire officer quietly tells him.
  ‘Oh, well,’ he shrugs. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’