Fallen hero
She would never have believed he could be so wicked, so evil.
She recalled the day she’d first set eyes on him and how she had become filled with longing until that special time when he came in to her life.
Then there were the long autumn and winter nights spent watching television listening to the patter of rain on the windows and the rhythmical beating of his heart whilst he lay by her side, and how throughout those long winter months they had become almost inseparable.
She gazed out of the polished French windows that led out on to the lawn.
The sky was full of bird song, and the garden was becoming alive again.
The warm afternoon sun shone down reflecting in the clear glass. Despite this she trembled and held her arms tightly around her.
She had seen the body that morning the blood, lying there inert, smelt the fear; the terror still alive in the defeated eyes.
She remembered his eyes once warm but now cruelly cold, his icy menacing stare showing no remorse for his tortured victim, and lingering at the back of those eyes she detected a kind of excited fever almost as though he was proud of his crime.
She held her breath then sighed deeply, the shock, the sight still fresh in her mind, leaving her distressed, and terribly disillusioned.
“Come on now love.”
She turned to the owner of the gentle voice by her side,
“It’s only nature.”
The six year old girl sniffed as she glared at the cat on the sofa no longer an adorable kitten.
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