Tsuchinoko’s Wife Pt I

Hello, kind bloggers of blog land. Here is a short drafted opening to a piece of fiction I am writing for my portfolio. If anyone is willing to tell me if it is worth continuing, I would be extremely grateful for their advice? Pretty please?

Tsuchinoko’s Wife Pt I

June's husband Tsuchinoko was fond of lies and liked a drink. That day, he rolled nonchalantly down the drive, full of Corona, pork scratchings and stories about the time he won the World Cup for Japan (it had to be hushed up to avoid angering the North Koreans).

It was always going to be difficult, being married to a mythical Japanese hoop snake. On days like this June would cast her eyes to the heavens and ask why, even in the smoky glitterball half-light of a Tokyo nightclub, marrying a boozed up fabulist worm had seemed like such a good idea. Perhaps it was the saki, or the way his scales glistened crimson-aubergine under streetlights. Perhaps it was because she liked his flickering kisses, or the nip of fangs on her earlobe, or because he was the manager for the Rolling Stones, or so he said, hissing it hotly into her neck as they slow-danced to Paint It Black: it really had been a heavy drinking session that night. But in the grizzled hoof of Scottish summer, June’s patience was wearing as thin as the pasty skin flakes he left lying around the house. It was time for a change.

It is easier than you might think to flush your mythical Japanese hoop snake husband down the toilet. Rubber gloves are advisable, as is an apron. June ambushed Tsuchinoko as he lay sluggishly on the teal fern-patterned sofa; his crimson scales lit up in the afternoon light like an open wound. Quickly, aided by the kitchen tongs and a sharp stick, and with trembling fingers, she grasped her writhing husband and held him at arm’s length. Briefly she remembered her wedding night. Tsuchinoko wriggled uselessly, his constricted throat producing soft, mewing sounds. A single tear oozed down his scaly face and left a globular stain on the carpet.

“Look,” said June, “This isn’t working for me anymore.”

And she plopped her husband into the toilet.

Kirsty Judge : 15 May 2011 13:52 |  Comments (5) |  Report a problem