Leap Year
By
Janet Chand
The crimson rose dripped lukewarm blood, as the cooling grayish marbled body lay slumped on the wrought-iron bench.
The blood congealed in small pools of sticky darkness contrasting with the whiteness of the bench which supported a smashed skull and a body in the last moments of life.
The night was cold, dark and silent.
The sweet fragrance of winter jasmine perfumed the air.
The full moon was the only witness to this terrible crime scene.
The secret rendezvous…like previous leap years had fulfilled the lustful longings of passionate exchanges.
These longed-for encounters exhilarated by the excitement of their forbidden affair.
The quiet crunch of gravel…now stained with blobs and pinpricks of dark red blood...heralded new footsteps.
The reality of the horror only now begun to unfold.
The first high pitched scream pierced the silence of the night.
Fear flooded in as with a sharp intake of breath, the scene was in a blink of an eye surveyed.
Mind scrambled and senses heightened the faint sound off fresh gravel crunching was hidden by the initial scream.
Only the cold Whoosh of air that rushed past a split second before the hammer smashed down onto her skull.
Splinters of bone infused with their blood...clinging together in death as they had in life.
Another rose lay bloodstained next to them on the bench.
As the madness evaporated in the mist of the dark night 2 souls left their earthly bodies for their final journeys... a gut-wrenching sob was heard.
Somewhere very near a long-suffering wife threw a hammer and a wedding ring into the river.
With bloodied hands and a broken heart she turned to the moon and cried before she walked forward into the cold water.
She followed the silver shimmer of the moon on the water until she could see only darkness.
The pain of losing her wife numbed in the cold dark water.
Pain which ceased as the last of the crystal air bubbles rose to the surface and another soul went on its journey.
Only then peace was restored, and the moon shone brighter.
Since retirement from a management career in Health and Social Care, Janet Chand is involved in writing and performing as awareness and therapy for survivors of gender based violence.
By
Janet Chand
The crimson rose dripped lukewarm blood, as the cooling grayish marbled body lay slumped on the wrought-iron bench.
The blood congealed in small pools of sticky darkness contrasting with the whiteness of the bench which supported a smashed skull and a body in the last moments of life.
The night was cold, dark and silent.
The sweet fragrance of winter jasmine perfumed the air.
The full moon was the only witness to this terrible crime scene.
The secret rendezvous…like previous leap years had fulfilled the lustful longings of passionate exchanges.
These longed-for encounters exhilarated by the excitement of their forbidden affair.
The quiet crunch of gravel…now stained with blobs and pinpricks of dark red blood...heralded new footsteps.
The reality of the horror only now begun to unfold.
The first high pitched scream pierced the silence of the night.
Fear flooded in as with a sharp intake of breath, the scene was in a blink of an eye surveyed.
Mind scrambled and senses heightened the faint sound off fresh gravel crunching was hidden by the initial scream.
Only the cold Whoosh of air that rushed past a split second before the hammer smashed down onto her skull.
Splinters of bone infused with their blood...clinging together in death as they had in life.
Another rose lay bloodstained next to them on the bench.
As the madness evaporated in the mist of the dark night 2 souls left their earthly bodies for their final journeys... a gut-wrenching sob was heard.
Somewhere very near a long-suffering wife threw a hammer and a wedding ring into the river.
With bloodied hands and a broken heart she turned to the moon and cried before she walked forward into the cold water.
She followed the silver shimmer of the moon on the water until she could see only darkness.
The pain of losing her wife numbed in the cold dark water.
Pain which ceased as the last of the crystal air bubbles rose to the surface and another soul went on its journey.
Only then peace was restored, and the moon shone brighter.
Since retirement from a management career in Health and Social Care, Janet Chand is involved in writing and performing as awareness and therapy for survivors of gender based violence.
