DOWN FROM THE CROSS
I found him wrapped in rags, between two wheelie bins. It was Jesus. Not the real Jesus, but the one from the crucifix outside Our Lady of the Rosary, by the flyover. He was around 2/3 life-size and had three glass tears glued to his cheek. His eyes were painted closed. So it was that he’d never seen the world. He spoke to me in a high-pitched voice - the castrato timbre of the eunuch. He wanted to hear the cars, he said. The noise would help him sleep. Later, after he’d dozed off, I peeked under his loincloth. It was all Barbie-bare and wooden, like the rest of him.
Tom Velho is a writer from London. By day, he teaches Modern Foreign Languages and Literature. He has had work in Red Ogre Review,The Delinquent and Rage. Twitter: @velho_tom
