Blood Sacrifice

Arthur pulls the knife from his pocket. Twirls it. Sticks it into a bun.

Splurt! Jam squirts out.

That's one pound twenty you owe me, says the baker, taking a brown paper bag from under the counter.

Is that the full price? says Arthur.

Yes it is, says the baker.

Low quality jam, says Arthur, licking the point of his knife.

Pay up, says the baker.

No, says Arthur. But I'll make you an offer. A poem for a bun. You can stick the poem up in your window. It'll bring in the customers.

The baker considers the offer. He needs more customers. Done, he says, bagging the bun.

Arthur takes it and heads for the door.

What about the poem? says the baker.

I'll be back in ten minutes, says Arthur.

He heads down the road to Saint Martin's, eating the bun. It is nicer without any jam.

The church has red sandstone walls, a green slate roof and a charming lead spire. Stained glass windows designed by Burne-Jones. But you can't enter unless it is Sunday. The doors are locked during the week.

Arthur prowls round the outside peering up at the windows.

Looking for something? says someone who looks like a vicar.

The pelican window, says Arthur. But I can't get inside.

Would you like a private viewing? says the vicar.

No thanks, says Arthur. Just show me which window it is.

He doesn't trust vicars. Nor should he.

The vicar looks disappointed. He points towards the east wall, and the five stained glass panels of windows.

There it is,says the vicar.  The Pelican in her Piety. See. Representing self sacrifice. She pierces her own breast with her beak to provide nourishment for her young.

Arthur squints at panel. Stained glass windows look dull from outside. He can't pick out the pelican, her babies, or blood. But so what? He gets out his smart phone and snaps in the general direction.

Happy? says the vicar. If you like I can show you a postcard.

He reaches out to grab Arthur, but his fingers close on Arthur's jammy knife.

Ouch! Blood drips onto the grass. The vicar doubles up in pain.

As Arthur walks back to the bakery, a poem forms inside his head.