mary bell

all that mattered was to lie well, lay near the well, lay quiet now. she presses on his neck. what happens now. do they die? what quiet curiosity in children. now: grass and purple weeds and he. a playful discovery--broken scissors tearing, her initials lazy and scraped. it isn't that bad; we all die sometime. she cuts his hair. she leaves the scissors behind. she leaves the boy behind. he has not taken a breath in some time. i couldn't kill a bird by the neck, she says. it's horrible, that, she says.

in a possible future, police do not catch on and the town quietly forgets. the tear in her dress has no meaning, now; there is almost nothing to regret, now. hear the birds here. hear the train near here. hear the school letting out for lunch and she among them here. what happens now. shouldn't he be here.

a possible past: wait now for a terrible gentleness--fingers on his neck and press. he is small and still. he still believes this is a game. mary bell knows not why she wraps his neck. but what happens if you choke someone. where will he be next. now: a bird lifts and, startled, she loosens, he runs away.

murder isn't that bad, ripping your dress isn't that bad, staining your knees isn't that bad, breaking the scissors isn't that bad, tearing his skin isn't that bad, hiding away isn't that bad, blaming another isn't that bad, and now a confession isn't that bad, and your new home is cold but isn't that bad, mary bell, murder isn't that bad, mary bell, ten years old, isn't that bad, mary bell isn't that bad, mary