Labour of Love

The plaster cost two hundred; only the best for her.

She took me eighteen months to finish.

The mannequin mould was the easy part, set in three weeks.

But attaching the hair, finding the clothes, sewing them on, painting her face, nails, mouth – it takes time if you want it right.

If you want it real.

And all I had to work from were pictures in the paper.

Tonight, under the lights, my beautiful girl sat upright, waiting for me. A perfect likeness, frozen in time.

Kneeling, I put the ring on her lifeless finger and cried.

First published in Stylist Magazine

 

Yellow

All this is yours, my little duck.

The moment your life begins, mine will end. I want you to appreciate every precious second. We’ll never meet, but I want you to run and love and dance and treasure each day in this beautiful world, because your life, like mine, will be short. Eighteen years of joy and sunshine, four years of breeding. Our twenty-second year must be our last. I go gladly, duckling. After so much happiness, I cannot yearn for more. I only wish I could see your face.

Number 22, your time is up.