Jerusalem – fiction by Kate Ennals
Propped up against goose down pillows, her face is ravaged and pallid, strung together with skeletal bone. In one hand is a lit cigarette. With her other, she picks at dry skin on her lip, gazing into the grey ether at the end of the bed. Her eyes glitter the gloom of the room. The burning cigarette tip fades as the line of ash grows between her two fingers. Eventually, ash drops on to her white duvet. It rolls down a crease.
She shakes the duvet and smudges the ash with ...