Marion Lougheed Archives - Black Hare Press

My Body

August 22, 2021/by S. Jade Path

by Marion Lougheed

I float above the body that used to be mine, imagining I will break free if only I tug hard enough. Our corpses blanket the field, our blood already drying. Our enemy has slain us all.

“Help me!” I call, but I am voiceless. The survivors straggle up the hill. A chill replaces the heat of battle.

An enemy soldier passes close enough for me to touch with my ghostly fingers. He shivers and a spasm shoots through him. He falls. My ethereal grip sinks into his warmth, then I am pushing his essence aside.

This body is mine now.

Marion Lougheed

Marion Lougheed is a writer, editor, and cultural anthropologist whose words have been published in print and online by Gypsum Sound Tales, The League of Canadian Poets, and The Capra Review, among others. She grew up in four countries and currently lives in Canada. Twitter: @MarionLougheed

Heavy Lifting

July 20, 2021/by S. Jade Path

by Marion Lougheed

Damien huffed as he worked his shovel. The night was cold against his flushed cheeks.

He laid a diamond necklace on his growing pile of goods. Though dusty from the grave, the diamonds glittered like teeth.

One grave left to pillage. Nothing valuable here, only a broken pipe beside a grinning skull. A rat poked its snout through an eye socket.

“Hey,” the groundskeeper shouted. “Grave robbing’s illegal!”

“Not on purge night.”

“Ah, that’s right.” A shot rang out and blood bloomed across Damien’s chest. As he fell, a hand scooped up his collection. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting.”

Marion Lougheed

Marion Lougheed is a writer, editor, and cultural anthropologist whose words have been published in print and online by Gypsum Sound Tales, The League of Canadian Poets, and The Capra Review, among others. She grew up in four countries and currently lives in Canada. Twitter: @MarionLougheed

YEAR THREE

January 13, 2020/by Black Hare Press

Tag Archive for: Marion Lougheed

by Marion Lougheed

I float above the body that used to be mine, imagining I will break free if only I tug hard enough. Our corpses blanket the field, our blood already drying. Our enemy has slain us all.

“Help me!” I call, but I am voiceless. The survivors straggle up the hill. A chill replaces the heat of battle.

An enemy soldier passes close enough for me to touch with my ghostly fingers. He shivers and a spasm shoots through him. He falls. My ethereal grip sinks into his warmth, then I am pushing his essence aside.

This body is mine now.

by Marion Lougheed

Damien huffed as he worked his shovel. The night was cold against his flushed cheeks.

He laid a diamond necklace on his growing pile of goods. Though dusty from the grave, the diamonds glittered like teeth.

One grave left to pillage. Nothing valuable here, only a broken pipe beside a grinning skull. A rat poked its snout through an eye socket.

“Hey,” the groundskeeper shouted. “Grave robbing’s illegal!”

“Not on purge night.”

“Ah, that’s right.” A shot rang out and blood bloomed across Damien’s chest. As he fell, a hand scooped up his collection. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting.”