Urban Volcano

Fiction by Börkur Sigurbjörnsson

“How was the shower?” you asked as I came out of the bathroom and entered the living room of the holiday apartment above the workshop of the Danish painter, inland from the northern part of the Gothenburg archipelago.

“Good,” I replied. “The pressure was fine. Really powerful. But the smell was strange. A bit metallic. Like blood. Probably due to the mineral composition of the bedrock around here.”

“Powerful bloodbath,” you exclaimed. “That does not sound all too attractive.”