Un Two

“You don’t need those,” the voice told me. “You’ll be much more comfortable without them.” It belonged to a motionless figure standing to a lit stone fireplace, the only piece of attention in an otherwise barren room.
“I don’t need what?” I asked out of curiosity.
“These,” tossing my shoes into the fire, “That’s how the fire burns, and this is how I stay alive.” The figure said, just as the mouth began munching on my toes.

The two officers climbed up the steps and briefly prepared themselves before knocking. It was only a few moments later that an elderly woman opened the door, “Good morning, officers. May I help you?”
“Yes, Ma’am. We received a report that a murder has happened here” said one of the officers.
An elderly man came to the doorway, asking “What’s going on here?”
“There was a call earlier today about a double murder occurring at this address.”
“Oh dear, well there hasn’t been any sort of murder here.” Two shots were fired, and the woman smiled as the officers feel to the ground.

Nessus stood there motionless in front of the dark twisted tree; he only got this chance every other millennia but he never knew what to say. He held the vile of the same breed he had always brought. He glanced behind towards the Phlegethon.
Phlegethon, Euenos-it’s still a river. The centaur looked up to the sky, as the blood red clouds swayed back and forth. Yahweh is dead again, and the poets will soon come as they always do.
“This is the last time I can do this, it’s the least you deserve,” whispered Nessus, tossing the vile into the river. He maneuvered away from the tree, carefully avoiding touching the branches. He thought he could hear the tree sigh in appreciation as he left.   

I held the handkerchief close to my face in an attempt to quell the stench. I gazed across the foreign field looking at the ghosts of fallen soldiers, they were littered everywhere. The twenty thousand had multiplied hundred folds; my friend’s ghost-corpse next to me was now only a blur intermingled with a dozen others.
Though I was the only thing actually here, the field carried a retching smell. The ghosts were already dead. No reason to stay with dead ghosts. Though I know I’ll end up here someday as one of them, after all people die in war, soldiers are no exception.

Lucy was my best friend when I was growing up as a child; since I was an only child and we lived far out in the rural mountainside. We used to play at all opportunities, except for the moments when Ma wanted to give me some sort of education or Pa had me working in the barn. Even then she would be with me, quietly watching.
Now that I’m older I’m lucky to still have Lucy with me. She adorns my hat, and feds my family.

In 1873, my ancestor by the name of Peter Rey was hanged by Lincoln for the first double murder in the state of Nebraska. My grandmother, the family genealogist once found a newspaper article that told Peter’s tale; Peter had allowed his neighbor to borrow his cattle for short-term definition of time, in which the neighbor had sold the cattle for a single stereoscope. According to the article Peter never had the best temper, killing the entire neighbor family in response to hearing the exchange. A bit much I must say. He neck broke with the crisp morning air one November morning.
It’s funny how 200 years later fate deals me a similar card.

I gently caressed his skin. Again and Again, I visit you every night. I’m not sure what I would do without these moments.
Lying next to you I can feel the true coldness of your skin, I slide in closer to you so that you might feel the warmth of my skin. Church bells ring in town foreshadowing my necessary leave, Father would have my skin if he knew I was with you. I wrap my arms around you, then my mouth wraps around yours’. That wonderful taste has never left your lips even when you no longer feel it.

For the best possible results:
Mix 3 beaten eggs with one fourth cup mother’s milk (best fresh); in a reasonably sized pot bowl three cups of water. When the water comes to a boil add the mixed ingredients and wait approximately fifteen minutes. For extra flavor include one cup of virgins’ hair. Ready to serve once the fifteen minutes has elapsed.

Sofia’s eyes were golden once upon a time, that was a time when she could still be held in her first lover’s arms. Until the day that he faded in her arms and never came back. Sofia wept consistently for the next year and a half.
She knew he’d never come back, but she always hoped. In the course of eighteen new lovers she felt nothing, except for maybe once. Sofia’s eyes were no longer golden, but gray, diluted by tears.

Grass never grows where the dead die.