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As He Watched

Misty Norman

 

As he watched, thee, four tiny golden leaves fell gracefully from the tree and fluttered down to cover her. “Nature provides for her own,” he though, as the golden shroud built up over her. Murder had not been on his mind at all. No, killing her was never a sensible option. Yet, here he was, faced with a moral dilemma that seemed to have no decent answer.
            No, to kill her had never been his intention. From the day he met her, he had loved her. And she had loved him, for a while at least. She had said he’d changed in the five months since they had begun dating. “Different, is all I can really tell you. You’re just . . . different,” is all she would say.
            “Quit pestering me about it!” he had finally burst out. By then, he thought, it had progressed beyond any conscious thought. He couldn’t help it. She didn’t bring it up again. But he thought he could see it anyway. He could see it in her eyes.
            “Obsession? I suppose,” he thought. “Very possible.” He thought no more on the subject as it consumed his mind, his heart, his soul. That day, the time had come. She said so. And he obliged. Happily. As he slid through, into arteries, she’d cried out once. Just once. “Surpirse,” he told himself as she died in his arms, “she was only surprised.” And then there he sat, next to her naked body, under the tree which had once been so pretty to look at, but would soon be as naked as she.
            Two days.
            Four hours.
            Thirteen minutes.
            Twenty-eight seconds.
            Forever.
            Until they came and took him away. Those who would never understand. They’d never understand what it was like to be like him.