Boneditch By Ian Bird

www.boneditch.wordpress.com "Beneath her raven-black hair, which rolled in waves like the bastard sea at night, was a bleached white skull. Deep within her three eye sockets I could make out the tiniest flecks of fire but otherwise all that was there was something that must have been dead for over a hundred years… Staring at me and smiling. I was still hallucinating wildly, but what else is life? Her voice was music, played backwards at midnight. 'Sorry to wake you. I'm a head hunter.'" www.boneditch.wordpress.com