EightLondon, immediately after
It's the Devil incarnate amongst us. Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus, protect us this day.
THE BLOOD FROM CHARLIE'S CUTS drip into the sink, spattering the gleaming mirror shards as he gingerly picks up the razor edged fragments, one by one, and drops them into the red plastic waste paper bin. The bathroom is quiet; a lull after the tumultuous events of the last frenetic minutes, punctuated by sobs from Doreen, still kneeling amidst the debris, her head still in her hands. The jar of cold cream, destroyer of the mirror had smashed in turn, spilling out white glossy cream across the beige floor tiles, a mess of goo and broken glass. Then a tap begins to drip into the basin, plink, plink, plink, cutting runnels through the splats of blood and then stops, one glob
