I'm still a city boy and the island didn't change much. Some trees might have fallen down or something, I don't know. Would have figured the rock paths would have been ruined, but they were fine.
House was in better shape than it should have been. A few broken windows, some birds' nests, some debris, lotta dust. Dunno how he felt about it; looked sick as hell, but might not have been because of the house. Walked around like a dead man opening up all the shutters and all the windows. Place still smelled musty and shut-up.
Don't want to think about the sound of shoes on the stairs, or the noise her dress made when she moved. Or the way she looked leaning out that window the last time, before she ran over to hug him.
Or the knife in my hand. Could have killed him with it instead of handing it over. Still see that damned knife in my dreams. Not nightmares. Just an ordinary dream, and that damned knife will be sitting on a table or something.
Fuck. Might as well just get to it or I never will.
He stabbed her in the back. I just stared at her back and his arms holding her and all the damn blood. Didn't even notice anything else happening for a while.
It was ... oh, fuck, it was like fog lifting or something and there was light. Only it'd been there all along and it just then started mattering again.
It wasn't even the time the sky broke in reverse. It was more that stuff just poured upward into the broken sky, and then it screamed, groaned and closed itself up like it had never been broken. Just like that, like nothing had happened.
It's a fucking ripoff is what it is.
He lives out there now. I've never been back since. Every time I think of the place, I remember him and her and all the blood. Or him covered with mud and blood walking into the sea. Don't know why he came back out. Don't think he does either.
Copr. ©2004 Sara A. Keating. This work will enter the public domain January 1st, 2034.