The Thief

The moon hung low on the horizon, shapeless through the mist and rain. It gave a strange feel to the the early morning like a bad horror movie. It has to be done, it must be done, the thought echoed in and out through the haze. A stumble, "who put that there?" A deep growl, almost like an animal came from deep inside, anger and rage and hatred boiling. The rain soaking through the old leather boots, each footstep harder than the last. It has to be done, it must be done. The door. Locked. The window. Locked Smash it. Someone might hear. Try another. Locked! Locked! Locked! No turning back now. The sound of smashing glass and breaking timber sounded louder in the night. A dog barked in the distance, woken by the sound. Ssh! Too late now! It has to be done, it must be done! The sound of running footsteps, "Who's there?" Suddenly the darkeness has vanished. It has to be done, it must be done. "I gave you life and you took it from me!" the words ripped harsh from the throat. A flash of metal under the fluorescent lights, "What are you going to do with that? Don't hurt me please." "I hate it when you whine. You were always whining. I gave you life. LIFE! And you just took it away!" Another face in the doorway. "YOU! You took my life too." A flash and a bang, screaming and yelling. These two took my life away, thought drifting through red haze. A silent tear, unnoticed on a wet face, legs suddenly wobbly. A deep sickness rose up and nausea threatened to empty dinner all over the floor. They looked stricken with grief and fear. Clasping at each other for dear life. Dizziness, tired, "You ruined my life," She raised the gun and pointed it to her temple. "Now you can clean up the mess."

Can I offer you another?

Pictures of violence and hatred flashed silently across the screen, of fire death and destruction. By-products of the worlds greed, the thought came and went, focus returning to the other person in the room. A pair of soft blue eyes casually looked back over the rim of a wine glass. The cat made soft noises and wound it's way round a leg, beckoning for attention in the brief instance of stillness and quiet. Perhaps hoping for a scratch or some attention, or more likely just plain hungry, eventually stalking off with a dissatisfied swish of the tail. Another glass of wine offered and accepted, poured and handed, the simple action closing the distance between them. Those beautiful eyes turned to watch the view, always spectacular at this time, long enough to discern the shades of blue flecked with gold. Those eyes seemed to drink in the sun, making them shine bright and clear, full of intrigue and hopefully desire. A step closer, emboldened with liqour, words forming on dry lips, breathing a little deeper. Those eyes turn away from the sun to catch the intent and words are eaten and swallowed. Pictures of violence and hatred flash silently across the screen, disregarded. The silence stretching, the wine unfinished, the cat still not fed, the sun in those eyes, the taste of wine on the lips.