From Empty Shells - Coming Soon...

 

     He sat alone in the woods beside the newly occupied grave, not feeling.

     The chill of the November night was lost on him. He could see his breath, caught as steam in the soft light as he recovered from the effort of digging, but he couldn't feel the cold. Through the trees he could see the faint outline of the bike path a few dozen yards away. He could hear the babble of the stream behind him and the sound of the rain drops falling on the dried leaves that covered the ground. He could smell the fresh earth, it's fragrance rich in his nose as it still covered his hands and his clothes. He could still taste the girl on his lips, her soft skin once vibrant with youth, now rapidly cooling in the damp earth. He knew all of this, but he didn't feel a thing.

     He should be going. He'd been out longer than he'd wanted to. If he'd thought about it, he would expect to come down with a cold after tonight's events. The forecast was calling for snow by the end of the week, but tonight it was still rain. That had been lucky for him, allowing his shovel to cut through dirt that would probably have been solid with frost otherwise. It also kept other people off the path. He hadn't seen a single pedestrian or heard a single car go passed on the road nearby. He'd been lucky about a lot of things tonight. He shouldn't push it. But still he sat, his back against a tree, only a few feet from death.

     Had he asked her name? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter anyway. She hadn't been real anyway. Not really. He might have looked in her wallet, but that was gone now. It had been burned with her clothes and everything else she'd had in the fire pit behind the cabin. Now she was naked in the ground. Except for the garbage bag over her head that was. It was clear, so he could see her pretty face, angelic in slumber, and her dark hair, pony-tailed neatly. That was how he would remember her. He would cherish that image and share it with no one.

She had asked for it. She'd told him where she was going to be. She might not have realized it, but she had. She told him, and then she was there. She was his, his alone, now and forever.

     The streetlights that lined County Road 17 just opposite the stream gave him just enough light to work by. He'd covered her with rich black dirt on the bank of the stream, then spread the fallen leaves over that. As he stood and began to walk back toward the little red bridge that would lead him back to his van, he thought about what would happen now. With luck it would be quite a while before she turned up. But even if it wasn't, he didn't care. To care you'd have to be able to feel, and he didn't.

     It was probably good that you couldn't feel after the first time you committed murder.

     Or it was bad. Very, very bad.

Reviews

[LanaBell]

is there more to this???
I like it lots ^__^ ...
your a very dark writer...i like dark