Debut Flash: 'Grief and the Tiger' by Suzanne de Kort

The tiger arrived the day before the funeral. He lay down exhausted on the deep pile carpet, his warm heavy torso crushing my feet.

It seemed unwise to ask him to move.

On the day I had to shut him in the cupboard beneath the stairs. It was dark and much too small for such a magnificent beast. I made him a bed of Ben’s jackets and jumpers, and left water in Ben’s motorcycle helmet.

Each time the tiger moved, the wooden handle of the broom, and the vacuum cleaner tools clattered together. I didn’t think anyone would hear above the chatter, and clink of glasses.

Especially as he promised not to roar.

When a colleague expressed his condolences, laying a sympathetic hand on my black velvet shoulder, I heard a large pad pounding hard against the door. A rustling of fur and the scrape of a claw, but the sounds passed unnoticed.

They have all left now. My tiger is well rested.

I open the cupboard warily, standing to one side. I feed him the remaining smoked salmon sandwiches and his rough tongue scoops up the pieces of crab canape he finds squashed in the carpet. He laps cold coffee from bone china. I stroke his back gently. Rage pulsates under his orange striped, muscle ripped skin.

Erebus calls me. A full moon lights my tiger’s path as he stalks forsaken streets. Voracious, he hunts the man who, lured by his lover’s text, took his eyes from the treacherous road, and carelessly butchered Ben.