Page 5 - Bottle

Shit. She was dead. Sandra was dead. He'd
never see her again. Never hear her laughter. Her
voice. Feel her skin. See the freckles on her arm.
The mole in the small of her back.

And more than two years ago they had been
naked in the bedroom. The room was charged with
emotion. He was very upset.

She said: "If this is love, then I'm very
disappointed."

He cried silently and she did the same. Crying
they had tenderly made love on the bed.

Kevin grew angry at the memory. He didn't
want it. He wanted to remember her well. He
wanted the good times.

He took a deep breath and his side flared. "You
and whose fuckin' army?"

"Fuck off," he hissed into the empty flat.
He strode across the lounge, seeing his
scratchings on the writing pad on the dining table.
He'd title it "What the fuck!" This was his attempt
at making sense of nonsense.
"Shit," he said as he went to the chest of
drawers in the bedroom. He pulled out a pair of
boxer shorts and climbed into them. Then he went
over and tore back the curtains. The light flooded
the room but didn't dispel the emptiness, the huge
silence.
"Oh Kevin. No, she's not. She's been killed."

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