A Song for Alice
by DJ Daniels
Ben was a singing butcher. Not the loud, operatic songs of a fruit seller, just a ditty, a tiny hum, a speck of joy. He sang to distract the girls from his profession, from the blood and the bones and the hanging carcasses. One girl, in particular.
She didn’t notice him, not for a long time. She would shudder when she came to the shop counter, and everyone knew she wasn’t happy to be there.
“She’s not for you, mate,” his fellow butchers would say. Probably a vego, probably anemic, probably forced to eat some meat. They’d seen it all before. “She’ll never look at you.”
Ben would watch her long, red hair swaying as she walked away with her sausages and bacon, and he would sigh. He made special marinades to tempt her, and in his imaginings, his longing, he found could see the flow of life before her, in beautiful curls, curves of pleasure and joy. He thought that if he sang, she would see that his life could coil in with hers, that they would wind together and make something marvelous and alive.