He gently traced the contours of her body as she lay there, completely still. His hand moved from her shoulder, sloping softly down her arm, to her slender waist. He lingered a moment over her crescent hip, then quickly swept the length of her long, shapely legs ending in gracefully pointed feet. He lay next to perfection and he knew it. The moonlight streaming in from a tiny window caused her skin to glow silver. His eyes trailed the shadowy valley of her spine, like a deep cut dividing her back. His gaze came to rest upon the mass of black curls spread across the bare pillow. They were nearly indistinguishable from the black stain that was slowly spreading across the cotton. He shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, she still lay there: a porcelain figure flung onto crumpled sheets. Without making a sound, he stood. He placed the gun on the pillow next to her head and disappeared into the night.
The Moon Was A Witness
March 5, 2010