The cuckoo calls
How long had she been sitting here, her hands limp in her lap? Breathing heavily she re-focused and moved the big toe on her right foot. It was the cuckoo that caught her ear in the silence of the small room in which she sat. It's call reminded her always of her mother wiping her hands on an apron as she cooed with the lonely bird "My toe bleeds Betty, look..." Her mothers blonde hair glistening in the afternoon sun as she baked or stewed or iced some fancy. Always a new spoon to be licked. Her mother, so young. So innocent. So trusting.
As the cuckoos call abruptly ended like a train whistle from long ago she squinted in the darkness out through the window to her left. Strange, a feeling one hears so much about in the young. A feeling that something was out of place played on her mind. But what? Glancing down she saw the knitting needles still one in each hand still caressing the wool and still breathing in the scent of the pattern. A dropped stitch. What a nuisance she'd need to unpick a substantial amount to be sure to correct it to her self inflicted high standard.
On closer inspection the baby blue bundle had the brightest drop of red just on the tip of one end. The baby blue tainted reminding her again of her mother. The ring she showed at a party once a baby blue stone to match her eyes he had said. Raising it to her eyes she blinked. Once. Twice. Taking her index finger nail she hacked until there was no more to be seen. She looked at that same ring now on her finger. A long, wrinkled tired finger that occasionally pulsates and then stilted but not today. Today it played it's role well. Looking at the needles sharp tip she gently sucked it in her gummy mouth. Licked it and tasted the salt. Blood. His blood. Then began the rhythmic clicking that was so characteristic of her demeanour.