IMAGEN

As the fire grows, he gathers all her belongings; her bra, her tee shirt, shorts, sneakers, socks, cotton panties, and her fanny-pack.  He opens the fanny pack and removes the contents. There is her driver’s license, a $10.00 bill and a key bracelet, which holds a single key.  He removes the key from the elastic wristband and throws it into the pond.  He angles the throw toward the deep water near the tree line and away from the sandy path, which is referred to as the beach.  He tosses the remaining items into the fire, watching them suffocate the flame for a bit and then catch on fire.  The smoke has increased, and the odor of melting synthetic fabric mixes into the clear air.  He picks up and tosses the condom into the flame, watching its path accurately hit the center of the fire, directed by the weighted end, which was carrying his fluid.

He watches the fire burn and checks around to see if there is anything left behind.   He picks up the knife that he has used, looking at the still-reddened blade, walks to the water’s edge and washes the blade.  He then tosses that in the water, this time to the left side of the tree line, away from the key he has tossed earlier, the weight of the knife carries well to where the water is deep enough, not to be found. He walks back along the water’s edge, looking to see his footsteps disappear as soon as his foot lifts and sets down again.  He walks over to the body still resting in the sandy shallow water.

Looking down, he can see small fish and a crawfish exploring the open cavity.  Their silvery sides flicker in the moonlight, reminding him of the sparkle and shine of the silver tinsel on the Christmas tree.  He reaches down and pulls the flap of skin that was once her well-formed breast and looks at the nearly -severed nipple that he has bitten.  Still, in his mind he can taste the warm, salty blood.  He grabs the nipple and pulls, tearing it from its host, and places it into a plastic bag.

He walks along to the shore to the tree line and grabs a large branch from one of the overhanging pine trees.  It is a large branch thick with time and has a full blossom of needles on it.  He carries it back to Sharon and rolls her body onto it.  Dragging her onto the quickly-made sled, he thinks of the Indians that must have traveled the same way many years ago here, carrying their sick and old.  He walks back to the road, the trail of the body sled sliding less effortlessly than he expects on the loose, sandy ground.  He doesn’t want to take a chance getting anything of him on her. He has done that and washed her clean.  Now he has to finish his feat and tie up the loose ends. 

He drags her body onto the back of the pickup, noting the sand, sap and pine needles that cling to her still moist skin.  Closing the tailgate, he snaps the black vinyl cover over the bed, holding her in rest in her temporary coffin.

Walking back to the beach area, he looks into the water, seeing only curdled lines of coagulated blood that seem to be where the water breaks against the shore, leaving a trail of scarlet ribbon along the shore.  The water is clear.  Small specks of what he thinks are flesh float in the beam of the moon, but the silvery fish are there, glistening as they eat.  He brushes the bloody line on the shore with the branch, breaking up the stringy flow of the red gel that floats into smaller globs, pushing it to deeper water.  The blood follows the branch as he sweeps it out like a litter of kittens following their mother.  The fish are excited and move in, now joined by larger fish, probably perch, as they break the water in their new-found frenzy.