Strange things happen to authors after midnight. Certain muses tell
very unusual stories, and don't let their respective authors go to sleep
until those stories are written down.
...
If Sands ever does this to me again, I'll kill him very dead and leave him for the vultures, be they cartel or otherwise.
So with a nod in his direction and his theme playing in the background, I tell the story he wants heard.
*****************
A woman knelt in a cemetery.
Her long dark hair hung as a curtain between her grief and the world. The fading sunlight caught in the silver strands in it that had been absent not so long ago.
One of her elegant, long-fingered hands was half-buried in the mound of red, dusty earth over a fresh grave, a grave that bore a simple wooden cross with a single word upon it; Sands.
She wept silently, without fuss or apology, wept for the man who she had met on that empty street so long ago.
With her free hand she laid a single flower, a marigold, at the base of the simple cross, and whispered the man's name. "Sands..." Even at a whisper, her voice broke, but after a moment she went on. "Do you remember, so long ago, when I found you on that street? I thought you would die that night." The faintest of smiles toughed her lips. "Do you remember that night? Of course. Of course you do."
Her smile faded, and her eyes stared unseeing into the distance for several long moments. Then her gaze returned to the ground under her hand, and to the golden flower. "I'm so alone, Sands," she said quietly. "And every year is longer than the last. I'm so alone."
She sighed deeply, then coughed, her hand rising automatically to cover her mouth. Her fingers came away flecked with scarlet. Another, sadder smile touched her lips at the sight of it, and a single tear traced down her cheek.
"Wait for me, Sands," she said softly. "It won't be long now, and soon I'll be able to tell you." Her voice was nearly inaudible now, so that the wind sighing over the barren landscape nearly bore her words away. "I love you."
***************
...
If Sands ever does this to me again, I'll kill him very dead and leave him for the vultures, be they cartel or otherwise.
So with a nod in his direction and his theme playing in the background, I tell the story he wants heard.
*****************
A woman knelt in a cemetery.
Her long dark hair hung as a curtain between her grief and the world. The fading sunlight caught in the silver strands in it that had been absent not so long ago.
One of her elegant, long-fingered hands was half-buried in the mound of red, dusty earth over a fresh grave, a grave that bore a simple wooden cross with a single word upon it; Sands.
She wept silently, without fuss or apology, wept for the man who she had met on that empty street so long ago.
With her free hand she laid a single flower, a marigold, at the base of the simple cross, and whispered the man's name. "Sands..." Even at a whisper, her voice broke, but after a moment she went on. "Do you remember, so long ago, when I found you on that street? I thought you would die that night." The faintest of smiles toughed her lips. "Do you remember that night? Of course. Of course you do."
Her smile faded, and her eyes stared unseeing into the distance for several long moments. Then her gaze returned to the ground under her hand, and to the golden flower. "I'm so alone, Sands," she said quietly. "And every year is longer than the last. I'm so alone."
She sighed deeply, then coughed, her hand rising automatically to cover her mouth. Her fingers came away flecked with scarlet. Another, sadder smile touched her lips at the sight of it, and a single tear traced down her cheek.
"Wait for me, Sands," she said softly. "It won't be long now, and soon I'll be able to tell you." Her voice was nearly inaudible now, so that the wind sighing over the barren landscape nearly bore her words away. "I love you."
***************