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Up in the ceiling space above my apartment, I had come to seek an old foe – and instead found what looked like a broken doll in the attic.   I cautiously shifted my weight and relaxed my defensive crouch with the support of a knee.

Amelia blinked, and the familiar beautiful dead eyes were obscured momentarily, then on me again.

We regarded one another.

 

Then I said, in a low voice:

“I killed you.”

It was a statement and a question and a cry of triumph and a knell of failure.

She did smile a little bit then.

“No, sweet”.

She shook her head gently, and opened her coat.

 

The scar in her chest was – impossible.   A visual anachronism.   Seared above the line of her dress, over the left breast, and shaped like a splintered sun.   A hideous mark branded on the otherwise pristine and eternal skin.   Healed over beautifully – but an injury gouged so deep that even our self-perpetuating physiology couldn’t smooth out the shallow dark puckered crater now tattooed into her.   Is that – even possible?   Is that what I…?

 

“See, love?”   Her voice was warm honey.

“You didn’t kill me.”   Her smile was a little wider.

“You just broke my heart.”

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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2 Comments

  1. Awwww don’t go making me feel sorry for her now….

      • awhirlingdervish
      • Posted January 16, 2010 at 12:43 pm
      • Permalink
      • Reply

      Hence the brilliance


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