I Love to Write

A deep cold has settled in. A harsh breeze rips through the deadening trees, taking with it the last of the leaves. But the trees aren't the only things left bare; the streets are dark and deserted as well. The only sign of life comes from an old drive-in theater. A black and white movie plays there, but the reel must be stuck; a heart-wrenching act dances sadly across the screen over and over again. A muffled crying is heard coming from a single bench in front of the screen. A lone figure sits bent over, trembling from the cold. Another breeze blows through, this one much stronger, colder. The figure turns away from the direction of the wind. It's too dark to see detail; the person is still simply a silhouette against the night...except for the eyes. Those bright, hauntingly heavy eyes. Eyes that silently scream of past horrors witnessed. But too quickly those eyes close, and they will never open again. Then the figure collapses to the ground and, just like the eyes, that's how the person will remain.

It blinks, the images gone from her view, and leans closer to her. Letting its lips brush against her ear, it whispers softly, 'Now you know how my soul died...'