Thief in the Night

Right down to the bones.  That’s where the chill came from—when he looked at me.

I was frightened and the hairs on the back of my neck stood stiff like the ice-cycles hanging from the roof, drawing emaciated shadows of legs onto my wall.

He grabbed by arm, (I could tell it was going to bruise) “I love you,” he said angrily.  This was the first time I’d ever heard him say it, either way I kept my mouth shut to stop my teeth from chattering.  His eyes were fiery amber—burning negatives onto the film of my brain.  Only as the prints developed, they formed blurry images that looked nothing like what I had remembered.

He came for one thing and wouldn’t leave without it.  I could taste the salt from my frightened tears dribbling into my mouth as I blurted out, “I love you too”.

A dirty deal, this was.

Yet before gathering my thoughts in hopes to digest the transaction, he flew out of my bed.  The window was left wide open, drawing a sweet scent from the gauzy linens while they fluttered violently letting in a cold breeze.  Behind them, I saw his silhouette vanish.

I was pleased.

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