The Origin of Cupid

My 11-year-old daughter wrote a story. It made me laugh, so I told her I'd put it on my blog. After she wrapped her head around me having a blog, she got very excited and said she'd write more stuff for me to post.

So this is probably going to turn into her blog.

Also, I'm going to type them as-is, mistakes and all.

Abby

I wrote this about 10 years ago, shortly after I started my real, adult job. It was a submission for a contest that was being hosted by The Tennessean. Some notable writer (so notable that I can’t remember her name…but I do remember that it was a woman) wrote the first paragraph, and we had to continue the story.

This is the EXACT submission I sent in. I couldn’t find the original Word document, but I did have a hard copy of it. I changed a couple of things when I retyped it. I’ve also decided I want to expand it. This is now on my radar again, and I want to do something bigger with it.

At the time I called this Abby. I have no better title for it at the moment.

*********

It was a hungry morning. There were many mouths to be fed. The kitchen was divided between the people who wanted corn bread and the people who wanted brioche. The people who wanted corn bread were all from somewhere else, just here for the festivities. How strange that a wedding kitchen and a funeral kitchen; a christening kitchen and a bat mitzvah kitchen; a rehearsal dinner kitchen and a New Year’s Eve morning kitchen look and feel so much the same – all expectation and jitters, so much memories and so many wishes.

“Never say never,” I was told as a child. Right in the kitchen. How carelessly I declared the thing I will never do. And now comes the day I must do it – before the eggs are cold, before the coffeepot is empty.

I took a pitcher of milk to the table and sat next to Abby. She was supposed to be the girl of my dreams, the one that got away.

My love for her started before I knew what the word meant. Fate, three cruel bitches who I could hear laughing every time I fell on my ass, brought us together for the first time in high school. We were both in band, and we both ran track and cross-country. But she was a gorgeous blond, a popular senior, and I was just an average sophomore. Apparently I wasn’t the best looking thing around, and high school is fickle. Fate kept beating my self-worth out of me, so I figured I didn’t deserve her.

I left later that year, my feeling paced with my books and CDs. I thought about her from time to time as a I spent a solitary summer in a new town, but those times became fewer as life began at a new school.

And that life came and went. So did college. And then I was working.

I saw Abby again at Market Street on Friday after work. I was in a booth with some guys from work, and she was at the bar. She was as beautiful then as she was the last time I saw her, but the high school innocence was gone, replaced with…I don’t know…maybe it was experience or sophistication or knowledge. Whatever it was, it radiated from her, and the schoolboy crush enveloped me again. I took a long swig from my beer, excused myself from my friends and walked over to the bar.

“Um, ‘scuse me, but I think you know me,” I said, only a hint of nervousness on my voice, a minute fraction of the nervousness that coursed through me and seemed to make my teeth vibrate. I’d never tried to pick up anyone in a bar, and I probably never will again.

Abby turned to me and gave me a quick once over.

“I don’t think so,” she said, turning to start a conversation with the girl on the other side of her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. “I really hate to be rude or pushy, but we DO know each other.”

She turned to face me, and I took a startled step back. Her long blonde hair had fallen in her face, and she tucked it behind her ear before propping her head up with one hand. At that moment she looked like the girl I fell in love with almost a decade before.

“So don’t keep me in suspense, then. How do I know you?”

“High school,” I said. “Band, track, cross-country, saxophone, twerpy little sophomore with a crush on a senior. Ring any bells?”

And that’s when I saw the light go on. Her face went from “Oh crap, this creep just won’t leave me alone” to “Oh wow, I think I actually DO know this guy.” Her eyes lit up and the sarcastic smile turned into something genuine.

And that’s how it began. We talked over our drinks, and I ended up asking her to dinner. One dinner led to two, and that led to others. Nine months later we were at my parents’ house in the same kitchen where my mom had told me never to say never, and I was proposing. I was on my knee, telling her I could never love anyone else the way I loved her, looking up at her the same way I looked up at my mother so many years ago when she passed on that timeless wisdom. How was I supposed to know those words and that decision would come back and haunt me less than a year later?

And here we are, in the same kitchen. Breakfast is over and I’m helping with the dishes, staring out the window over the sink. How do you tell someone you promised, pledged to love and cherish, through the good and the bad, until death do you part…how do you tell them you love someone else?

The eggs may be cold, but there’s still coffee in the pot, so I guess I’ll find out soon.

Probably for the rest of the month I’m going to whore myself out with an impassioned plea: click on the ads. PLEASE click on the ads. I don’t care if you exit it out of it immediately or actually look around. This isn’t some professional blog where I believe in the products I’m shilling. These are automatic ads placed by Google. But my experiment this weekend proved to me that I actually AM making a spot of cash whenever the ads are clicked. So I’m going to put this little disclaimer on the bottom of all my posts for the next month or so, and I hope you’ll take an extra 10 seconds after reading my blog to click on an ad. Thanks so much!

The Bar

He hadn’t planned on staying so long. His friends had gone, off to eat sushi and drink Saki, but he wanted to stay. He said it was because he wanted to enjoy some “me” time, but was that really it?

As he took another drag from his Marlboro 72, he glanced at the table to his right. Two lesbians, probably the two most attractive he’d seen outside of a Cinemax movie, were gently yet playfully tapping their fingers together. It was the sort of thing he and his wife would have done long ago, while they were still blissfully in the beginning stage of their relationship, when they could put up a wall around themselves and shut out the noise of a nighttime bar.

That one simple yet strongly affectionate gesture made him pause, made him hunger for that feeling.

Another cigarette was lit, and the nicotine made his head swim. It succeeded where the four beers couldn’t. He thought he’d either been drinking too much lately or not smoking enough.

The server walked by as a new couple sat down at a table in front of him. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt, white, button up. Khaki pants, sensible brown shoes and a short haircut screamed professional man. He studied the board behind the bar that advertised new beers, then studied the menu. He tried to look knowledgeable about the art of beer, but he ended up getting a recommendation from the server. Nothing dark. Nothing too bitter. A “safe” beer.

His wife (rings on both of them) settled for a house white wine. She was out of her element, but humoring her husband now and then kept him in line, ensured her place as queen of the castle. When they get home later, she’ll allow him on top of her, let him inside of her, and he would fall asleep with a feeling of accomplishment. Later, when he was snoring and sleeping a dreamless sleep, she would get up, tiptoe into the bathroom and think of Dan At Work. It wasn’t always Dan At Work, but tonight it would be. Five minutes, ten, then she would crawl back onto her side of the bed, and next month the night would be repeated, and each month after, until neither of them could lie anymore.

The cigarette was stubbed out and the server walked by again.

“You doin’ okay, honey?”

“For now,” he replied with a smile he hoped said more than his words.

He didn’t know her name or anything about her. She was beautiful, though. Slight of frame, but not frail. Her legs went up into her plaid skirt. Short white stockings were pulled up just below her knees. Her olive T-shirt that proudly proclaimed that she was a “beer knurd” revealed the outline of a bra, but he though it was probably unnecessary. Her smallish breasts would probably remain perky and inviting until her first child, maybe longer.

Her hair was up and revealed a slender, smooth neck. He wanted to kiss it, whisper in her ear and kiss her neck just behind the earlobe.

Another cigarette, and it was dark outside. The bar was full, but not as cramped as it had been the night before.

Two more ladies sat down between the lesbians to the right and the young Republican couple in front. As the server checked their IDs, the strap of her bra slipped below her sleeve, and it drove him wild. Why is it that such simple and innocent image can get a man’s heart racing?

Another drag from the cigarette. Freddy Mercury was singing about his bicycle, and he wanted desperately to ask when her shift ended, if he could buy her a beer.

But he thought of his wife and their kids. They were in Gulf Shores all week with her family. They would be home late tomorrow, and he thought of everything he had to do. Clean the house, do the laundry, put his ring back on.

It was his vacation too, and although he had never strayed, this symbol of love and trust and forever seemed to get a little tighter each day.

Six more cigarettes remained in a pack that was new just hours ago. Now there were five. This isn’t how he expected the evening to end, alone in the bar destroying his liver and his lungs. His grandfather was an alcoholic, a mean drunk, and had succumbed to the emphyzema that took away his breath.

The lesbians left and were replaced by frat boys. Jeans and tight Polo shirts. Not-so-sly glances at the servers in their short skirts and push-up bras. They knew what brought in the tips.

The barleywine sat half empty, a little too much for the end of the night. It was a freebie, a gift from serving goddess. He craved water, though, and maybe another cigarette. It was almost time to head home, leave the fantasy with ashes and matchsticks and used butts. Return to normal tomorrow. Return to love and trust and forever.

He looked around the bar one last time, at the shots and pints and bottles, at the glasses of wine and the pitchers of local brew.

It was a good week. It was a week of friends and drinking and smoking. It was a week of good times and close calls. It was a week of relaxation and thinking. But most importantly, it was a week of fantasy and escape.

FYI

In case you didn't know, I've got two (well, technically three) blogs other than this one. Two of them originally had a purpose, and the third was my first attempt at blogging that lasted mere minutes. I'm deleting the old TMWIAM? blog and the writing blog. The first is just redundant, and the second I'm going to fold into THIS blog. Why not? Since people actually read this thing, maybe posting my creative writing and (hopefully) getting some feedback might encourage me to keep up with it.

I've imported all of the posts from these two blogs (all TEN of them...watch out!). The writing blog contains two poems and two short stories. If you'd like to read them, scroll down the right side of the blog and find the labels "poetry" and "short story." They'll hook you up, because I'm about to delete those blogs permanently. I've just reread them for the first time since posting them, and I have to say, I still like the most recent poem. The other one was written in college when I was away from my girlfriend, so I make no apologies for how serious it is. Teenagers, amirite? I still like the children's story, but when I reread it, I imagined the narrator as the honey badger guy. The other short story. God awful. REALLY awful. I still like the idea and think it warrants an eventual rewrite, but what I ended putting on the page was crap.

Since I won't have that writing blog anymore and I actually want to dive back into my writing (practice makes perfect, and after reading that old story of mine, it looks like I need LOTS of practice), I'll be going through a bunch of older stuff, high school and college stuff, and burning it off here, warts and all. I imagine the poetry will be highly embarrassing and might provide untold hours of ridicule from a certain circle of friends should they need a bit of a laugh. I remember thinking everything I was writing was so heavy and serious. It was NEW, it was LOVE, and it was IN THE MOMENT. Man, this is either going to be horrific or hilarious. I doubt there will be much middle ground.

And since I'm ever the optimist, I'm keeping the last blog. I would LOVE to be able to one day actually SEE my comic book, if not as an actual comic, then as a web comic.

So, um, yeah. That's it.

A Penguin Finds Love

Introduction: This was written during the summer of...1999, I think. I was working part time at the Cookeville Quick Print. Most Saturdays when I worked, I was the only one in the store, and really, who needs printing services on a Saturday? So I wrote this one Saturday morning. I later made this into a little book complete with some random penguin clip art from the web and gave it to my girlfriend (who is now my wife) for her birthday.

A Penguin Finds Love

Let me introduce you to the star of the show. Meet Angie. She's a penguin. Wave to the folks, Angie! Isn't she cute? Just take a look at that shiny black coat. It really stands out against her bright, white belly.

What? What's that, Angie? Oh, she wants you to see the bow on her head. She thinks it's special, which it really is. See the shiny butterfly? She calls it her "flutterbye". She's so cute! Angie's never seen a real butterfly before.

Actually, she's never seen an animal that hasn't been another penguin or a polar bear. Ooooh, polar bears are scary! She better stay away from them!

Well, we'll be following Angie around today as she goes about her business. Let's hope it isn't boring! Come with me and we'll get started.

Shhhhh…Angie's still sleeping. Let's look around her room before she wakes up. Look at all the ice! Since Angie lives in Antarctica, she has to make her home in snow and ice. It gets pretty cold, but her little black coat keeps her nice and toasty warm.

Well, her room looks like a normal, penguin-girl's room. Bookcase, desk, dresser…what's this on her mirror? It's a picture of a BOY penguin! It must be a friend from school.

Uh oh! She's waking up. Let's hope we didn't make too much noise!

She still looks sleepy. She needs a shower and some food to really wake her up. Well, she can take care of those at the same time. Let's follow her outside.

Gosh, the sun sure is bright this morning! There's Angie, standing by the water and stretching. What do you think she will do?

That's right! And there she goes, diving right into the water. I guess that takes care of her shower, but what about breakfast? Oh, I see. Watch her swim gracefully up to the fish and just gobble it up. Sorry Mr. Fish, but today you serve a higher purpose.

Well, it looks like she's getting out of the water. Where do you suppose she's going? Do you think we should follow her? Me too!

Angie sure does look happy today. Her coat looks extremely shiny and she keeps fussing with her "flutterbye" bow. I think she's going to someone's house. Yes, and there it is. She sure looks excited. Let's find out who it is.

Why, it's the same penguin that was in her picture! He seems pretty excited, too. I think they like each other a lot. It looks like they're going to spend the day together. Do you think we should still follow them? Well, you're the boss so we better catch up because they've already left.

There they are, walking and talking. I wish we could talk to them, but at least we can hear them.

"That's a pretty bow you're wearing."

"Really? Thank you very much. It's my favorite. You look very handsome today."

"Thank you. I combed my flippers for our date."

Did you hear that?! They're on a date! This should be fun!

"So where are you taking me on our date?"

"Well, I picked out a spot for a picnic. I hope you like fish because I spent all day catching them. I got the biggest and tastiest fish that I could find."

"Are you kidding? Fish is my favorite food!"

"Well then, here we are."

Oh wow, isn't he so sweet? He has a little tablecloth spread out over the snow, two plates with a fish on each of them, two glasses full of milk, and candles added for that romantic touch. Somebody better tell Angie that this one's a keeper.

Well, gosh, they're sure not saying much while they eat. This is getting kind of boring, don't you think? Let's take a look around at the scenery. Hmm, there's some snow over here, some snow over there, a polar bear sneaking up on the two penguins, more snow over in that direction, snow covering the …POLAR BEAR!?! Oh no, someone better warn them!

"So, I was thinking, if nobody's asked you yet - "

"RRROOOAAARRR!!!"

"Eeeeek! It's a polar bear!"

"Quick, Angie, run over there! I'll take care of the polar bear."

Wow, Rob is so brave. But what is he gong to do? The polar bear is really mad and is chasing him. Rob dove into the water!

Will that stop the bear? Nope. He jumped in after him. But look how fast Rob is in the water. He's swimming circles around the bear. The bear looks dizzy and sick. I think he's had enough for today, and Rob does too.

But why is he leading the bear out of the water? Now they're heading towards Angie. Just what is going on?

"Don't be scared, Angie. Mr. Polar Bear has something he would like to say to you."

"I'm sorry for ruining your picnic Miss Angie. I saw the food and got so hungry. I hope you're not mad at me."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Polar Bear. Your apology is accepted and you are forgiven."

Well, that was unexpected. The polar bear apologized. And now he's just walking off, but he looks sad and embarrassed. I guess that'll teach him not to ruin a first date. Let's see what's happening with the penguins.

"Oh Rob, you're so brave to lead the polar bear away from me. This was the best date I've ever been on. I can't wait until our next one."

"Our next one? You mean you want to go out with me again?"

"Of course, silly boy. I think I want to go on a lot more dates with you."

Oh, shut your eyes, children…too late! She just stood up on the tip of her flippers and gave Rob a kiss on the cheek. Look at him blush! Now they're walking home, and holding hands even. I think it's time we left them alone. They've had a busy day, and I think we'll be able to go on more adventures with those lovebirds. Wave bye to the penguins, kids!

This is dedicated to Angie, the person who stole my heart, won my love, and became my best friend. No matter what happens, you'll always be my little penguin and my punkin'.

Windows

Introduction: I'm not a fan of short stories. I don't like writing them, and I'm not all that crazy about reading them. I'm a big-picture guy, and I'm always left wanting more.



When I first wrote this story in college, I was pretty pleased with it. It's mostly a transcription of an audio tape left for the narrator's fiance, and that's how I originally "wrote" it. I had a little microcassette recorder (I've still got it around here somewhere) into which I spoke the whole thing into.


After reading it recently and making a couple minor changes, I found that the shine had dulled a bit for me. It's not as original as I had originally remembered it being. The antagonists are pretty much an amalgamation of the low men from Stephen King's short story "Low Men in Yellow Coats" from his book Hearts in Atlantis, the little bald doctor's from King's book Insomnia (whom I thought were said to be the same as the low men, but now I don't know where I read that), and the killers in Brian Michael Bendis' first Sam & Twitch story, "Udaku."


A big theme in a lot of my work seems to be love and what would be done to keep it. I fell in love with my wife when we were in high school, which was 13 years, one mortgage and three kids ago. I'd do anything for her, too.


So here's my first short story. Please let me know if you did or didn't like it. Be honest, I can take it. If you're a writer, especially one who delights in the short form, feel free to tear me a new one. It can only make me a better writer.

Windows

If you could only see the way see loves me, maybe you would understand

Why I feel this way about our love and what I must do

If you could only see how blue her eyes can be when she says…

…when she says she loves me

“If Could Only See” – Tonic

I’m recording this for you because I’m tired of the running. I’m tired of the hiding. And I’m tired of the fighting. I just want this to be over. I want you to get back to as much of a normal life as possible. I’ve given up, but that doesn’t mean you have to. It’ll all be over soon

I did everything I could. I can’t save myself, but I saved you, and that’s all that matters.

Ssnnnfff…

You died in my arms that night. You flat-lined. I was there; I saw it…but I wasn’t the only one. Your parents were sleeping in the waiting room. The chair I was in was uncomfortable. Something was always digging into my back, no matter how I sat, but I was by your side. Tearstains lined the sleeves of my shirt; snot was caked on the cuffs. After a while the tears just wouldn’t come, and I sat there, staring. I don’t know, maybe I was trying to will your body to get better.

There were times when I dozed off without realizing it. The steady blips of the heart monitor, the hum of machines, the soft shoes of the nurses passing by. They were my lullabies.

My enemy that night had the upper hand. It was the heart monitor that lulled me to sleep. It was the heart monitor that mocked me without the slightest hint of remorse. If it stopped, if the broken beats formed a continuous wail, if the peaks and valleys fell and filled and became one straight line…if it stopped…life stopped. Doctors didn’t have control, you didn’t have control, it did. And when I realized that, it knew, and I swear I saw the lead dip into a bit of a grin before it flattened and the blips changed to a scream.

It was almost like I was dreaming: your hand went limp, your chest fell. Your last breath tore a piece of my heart out, and I could see a change. It was your soul. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I wasn’t sure that I believed in souls or not. That would imply a God that I had just abandoned. A God that could take a person like you while leaving someone like me to suffer, that’s just evil. But they are real, and they’re beautiful.

Your soul floated above you, seeming to drain from every pore. I could see you in it: your beauty, your love, your hopes and dreams, all your emotions brought forth in a rainbow of colors. And slowly, while doctors were saying words I couldn’t understand, while your parents stood next to me and cried, while my entire world fell apart around me, your soul started to whither and die.

At that moment I saw everyone I ever knew and cursed them all. No one could help, not even God. But the person I hated most and cursed the loudest was myself. I felt impotent and useless.

The doctor called the time. I looked at my watch and noticed he was fast. As everyone left, I went to you to finally help. I reached out and grabbed your soul. A soul is something that isn’t tangible, it can’t be grabbed, but I wanted to so bad, and I think it new that. I held it in my hands, and I could hear you singing. It was beautiful, and knowing that I would never hear that again ground the pieces of my shattered heart. So I held on and could feel something being drained from me. I was giving your soul part of mine. And when it was healthy again, when it looked like a rainbow, when it looked like you, I let go, and it sank back into you. You gasped once, then again, and I smiled as the tears returned. I smiled and cried as I passed out next to you.

*****

Your parents came in expecting to find me a basket case and their daughter, I don’t know, at peace, maybe? I don’t want to say dead; that’s too cold. But, I guess it’s true. Everybody had expected you to die, and you didn’t disappoint, but I wouldn’t let you go. I’m selfish, I’m just a selfish son-of-a-bitch. So you lived, and you recovered quickly, and you went back home, and I didn’t leave your side.

We were engaged as soon as you got out of the hospital. I wasn’t going to waste any time. I saw how short and fragile and how really unspecific life is. So we got engaged. We were going to be married and spend the rest of our lives together. Nothing could have been better.

And then I saw the first one of them.

Just kind of hanging around, watching. I don’t know, maybe making sure you were the right one. If they screwed up they’d just have more work to do. I really didn’t think anything strange was going on. Every now and then I’d see a guy in a trench coat, y’know, nice, khaki, London Fog-ish. And a cloth Fedora, kind of like Indiana Jones’ hat, except not leather. It went well with the trench coat he was wearing. But it wasn’t until I learned the truth that I realized how much they were around. But we lived every minute of those next few weeks.

And then the first one came after us. We ran back to your house, we ran quickly. He probably knew where you lived, but I guess they weren’t in too much of a hurry. But we ran and told your parents. It didn’t seem too bad, just some crazy guy. SNIFF SIGH, but, oh, we wouldn’t have even begun to imagine what would happen next. I went out, the first time I went anywhere without you since the accident, and this man, not the same one that was chasing us, somebody different, an old guy, I don’t know, I thought he was a crazy bum. Oh god, but he was anything but. And he told me what they were.

They were soul chasers.

That’s what he said, and now I believe him. He made me listen to him and I was horrified. These men, they set things right. They kill people who should already be dead, like you. I put your soul back, and they needed to take it and put it where it belonged. They were after you. It wasn’t an “us” thing, it was you they were after. But I promised you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you again.

*****

 

It’s too bad you can’t join me for my last meal. I’ve got a nice selection of…roast beef, curly fries…that looks like it might be…chicken…I don’t know. That cat over there was gnawing on it pretty hard. Yeah, I’m fightin’ the cats for my dinner tonight. I never thought I’d have to sink to…dumpster diving. Y’know, you’ve never really lived until you’ve eaten out of a dumpster and survived off of rain water. It’s something everyone should do some time in their life; I heartily recommend it. Do it right before you die.I don’t know, maybe I’m in shock. I think I’m taking this extremely well.

Sigh, they don’t need to eat. Well, maybe it’s not so much a need thing; they just can’t. I guess it’s hard to eat when you have no mouth. That’s right, they have no mouths, no noses, they have no eyes, they have no ears, no lips, eh, I guess that would go with the whole no mouth thing. As far as I can tell…no hair…one of the ones I killed was bald…I don’t know. But I’d have to go with the no mouth thing…I’m sorry, the no hair thing.

Sitting outside your house, I had just gotten through with my enlightening conversation with the old man…and…I didn’t know what to do.

Completely featureless…sigh…no faces…and…I think the only people who notice that are the people they’re chasing. They seem to just blend with the crowds, with everybody else. I can go ahead and assume: no fingerprints, no identifying marks, nothing to make them stand out. Heh, you’d think the whole no-face-thing would make them stand out juuuussttt a bit. They always have the fedoras, hats, and they’re always wearing the trench coats. It’s like something out of a detective comic I read. 

Sigh…when a soul leaves the body before its time, or it doesn’t leave when it’s time, that’s when they’re called. It’s their job. Technically I guess they’re angels, just doin’ God’s work. Or maybe they work for the opposition. Or maybe they’re grim reapers. Dammit if I don’t want anyone heavenly, anyone celestial to have you though.

I’ll do anything…anything. They’re not gonna hurt you, they’re not gonna get you. That’s why I did what I did. I took the one thing that could lead them to you. For that, I’m truly sorry. And I know, once they find me and kill me, that’s it. I will be a void, my life will be void, but you will still be here, and that’s all that matters. I’m nothing without you.

They’re the desert for my last meal. I’m sure somewhere it’s a delicacy. I don’t know if I should…chew ‘em…or just swallow ‘em…pop ‘em, suck ‘em down.

I’m not scared, not knowin’ what’ll happen. I don’t know if I’ll go where you’re supposed to go. I don’t know if you’ll live forever. I don’t know what’ll happen when you die. But I don’t care.

Some will say I did what I did because I was crazy. And…I might be. I don’t think so, though. I know what I’m doing. What I’m doing I’m doing out of love, not to hurt you, but I saved you, and there’s no turnin’ back now. I can’t undo what I’ve done, and I wouldn’t want to. I don’t know, maybe it was selfish. I didn’t want to go through the rest of my life without you, so I saved you. Now you’ve got to finish the rest of your life without me. Of course, you may not think that’s such a bad thing after what I did, but…

It’s said that the eyes are the windows of the soul. It’s true, y’know. The person who said that, I don’t know if he saw these men and what they do, but I’ve closed your windows. I don’t know if, I guess, your soul will live forever now. Your body may die, but your soul will live forever.

I hope I did right, ‘cause I did it out of love.

I’ve almost said all that I can, all that I know, then I’ll mail this tape to you. I hope you get it, and I hope you can forgive me…because I love you.

Je t'aime, mon ange…I love you…good bye.

*****

Daniel stopped the tape. The envelope was already stamped and addressed; all he had to do was stick the tape in and seal it. That done, he picked up the envelope and a small brown sack next to him and walked around to the front of the building.

The sun was starting to set; between moving and scrounging for a last meal, the recording had taken all day. He looked at the sky. The clouds that blotted the sky earlier were dissipating, and the setting sun made them rich, colorful cotton balls.

“What a fitting scene to see before you die,” he thought.

He reached the mailbox, took a deep breath, and dropped the envelope in. It was too late now. Hell, it was way past too late. At least now she’ll know why things happened the way they did.

As he was walking away, off to somewhere peaceful where he could do his deed in private, he saw them. It was a they, this time, not a he. Tracked like a wounded animal, the pack closed in for the kill, and Daniel let them come.

The Faceless Men tore into him, searching for the misplaced soul.

“It worked,” he thought as he lay there dying. “If only they knew how wrong they were. If only they knew it was me looking through her windows.”

And he smiled, and he thought of his love, and his last breath left him, and it was over.