For a second, he felt that quick, vicious, joy that comes to a being who takes life and has no regrets, then it faded away and he was left empty, the heavy scent of rose blanketing him in sickly sweetness.
****
The church echoed slightly, amplifying soft footsteps. He sat alone, staring at the carving, at the stained glass. He wasnt sure exactly why he was there, perhaps to escape the clamouring street. It was quiet here.
Someone was coming up now behind him. "Are you all right now dearie?" a voice asked, anxiously. Peering down at him was the bespectacled face of an older women, not quite elderly, with her grey-white hair tucked into a neat bun. Worried at receiving no response, she seated herself carefully at his side. "Would you like a cup of tea? Come along now, dont sit here in the cold. Its Christmas! Come in now, and warm up."
She rose, looking inquiringly into his face. He stood. It wouldnt hurt to follow her, he thought. After all, her heart was weak . . .
****
He hadnt killed her. She had taken him into her home, a little place by the church, and given him tea, which he surreptitiously poured away. Since then she had been talking, happy to have found a listener. He, to his surprise, was having a good time.
She didnt seemed to notice his lack of speech. "My husband, though, he died only a few years back," she said, sadness creeping into her voice. "He fell from a ladder, putting up a birdbox."
Death winced. He remembered that day. The man had been in good health, happy, a loving husband and father . . .
"I do miss him," she continued. "Thats why I came to the church in fact, I couldnt sleep. Are you married?"
He shook his head.
"Such a pity, handsome young man like you. Just havent met that special someone?"
He shrugged.
14-Dec-2007 23:20:31
