Deep within the smog wrapped squalor of Olde London town, well heeled city gents could often be found seeking escape from the drudgery of their own fragrant, ordered lives. Granny Mulligan’s was one of many places which offered what they sought – all she insisted was that you respected her girls.
They were hard times, even downright dangerous on occasion. Granny though was more than capable of looking after herself; her young girls, with their crudely painted lips, rosy coloured cheeks and innocent, nervous smiles were much more fragile. Little Annie’s freshly applied black eye meant she would be off the streets for a week – Granny was furious.
‘Get the bastard, and bring me the mangle!’ she roared.
The fat bellied merchant who had laid his jewelled fist on Annie was caught before he reached the safety of the main thoroughfare. Nobody dared to notice as he was coshed and dragged back to Granny Mulligan’s. As he woke Granny started to turn the handle, pulling his bulbous manhood into the waiting rollers. The agonised cries went unheard and ignored. An expertly slit throat put an end to his gurgling screams for good.
As the lumbering body was taken away, Granny Mulligan gently bathed Little Annie’s bruised eye and smiled a toothless smile – nobody touched her girls.
These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge.