Jack the Lad

By Elizabeth Smith

Red lights danced behind my eyes like reluctant strippers, and the darkness inside my head flickered into consciousness. A throbbing at my left temple. I remembered the pain before I remembered what caused it. An angry boyfriend, a smashed bottle, a right hook. I’d gone down hard. Around me, the clinking of empties, the murmur of voices. I was on my back. Blinking against the lights swinging like a pendulum above my neck, a blurred outline peered over me. It was big, with a deep, gravelly voice.

“He’s awake.”

Then I saw the boyfriend. And we weren’t in the pub any more.