The cat shoots hissing past him and raced down the stairs. Henry closes the door and breathes the leaden gloom, which usually is spreading through abandoned homes, and on his shoulders supported, like an old friend.
He walks into the bedroom and takes the small picture in itself. He stroked her auburn-colored hair, closes the Eyes and pushes the picture to his nose. Summer. Bare feet that hardly touch the grass. Bright red sandals in hand. July laughter. "You see? You see, I made it!" Your arms around his neck and Brombeerlippen.
He opens the cupboard, leaving the hands waving over their clothes. They bag up. Fill with rosy flesh. With warm breath. With blood. Heartbeat.
Jessica in the pale red dress that goes straight up to her knees. He likes it when she wears dresses. Like how rubbing the hem on the skin of her thighs, she wanders about, retires and again unaffected.
She holds out the letter and her eyes shine with the sun to the Bet.
"I've done it! You have accepted me. I can not believe it. "
you waiting for, he reads the letter, and he buries his hands deeper into the pockets of his only pair of jeans.
"Hey Papa Bear, do not look so grim. I'm not from the world and I come back every weekend in our den. You make us a fire, and we we are. Just like always. "
would come. First, every weekend, then every second and at some point ... Henry's lips curl, stiffen and eventually he manages to them to force a smile. "Yes, we always we will be."
He takes the letter in his hand and directed a glance at the blurred letters.
"That's great, Jess. I'm looking for you. "
" The only way you say. "
" However, I am really looking forward. "Bites
The sun was in his neck and he rubs at his most interesting skin. And he sweats. He sweats and he hates the summer. Not in principle. But that he hates to from second, with full conviction and success.
his face buried in an airy fabric. He takes the dress from the closet and grabs it with a few personal belongings in a small travel bag. He makes the bed and put out the light.
"Hey, Kiki, what have you done." He goes into a crouch and take the girl the knife from his hand. Blood? At her clothes, hands, the stainless steel. She sits at the counter of the small pubs. Leaning back against the wood paneling, legs stretched out.
The small body weighs almost nothing, as he carries it upstairs to the bathroom. He turns on the water, touches her gently away from the stained clothes and let them sink into the tub.
She puts on her legs, wrapped around her shins, and laid her head on her knees. Isolated strands of hair floating on the water surface and form a surreal Gischtkrone around the cliffs of her body.
you humming. She has a beautiful voice. A little smoky. Like a summer morning in the mountains. And you know when the fog has cleared the first, waiting for a clear day. Henry
the sponge dipped in hot water and wets her shoulders, she let the water run down the back.
He carefully moves his finger over her shoulder blades, the two eight-inch-long scars, which run parallel to each. They are old and faded. Except for a few harmless cuts on her arms, no fresh wounds can be found.
"What happened?" He asks. Quiet only, he does not want to scare you.
"Did you know that blood adapts his environment? At night it is black and silky, hiding in the shadows, like a chameleon and it flows very slowly. During the day, but since it is bright and fast, like a straightened stream, as if to say it was: Look, I'm from "
you start again, the little tune to hum.. And Henry looks at her scars. Equally they are almost like identical twins. And they are adapting to their bodies as if they have always been with each other. As if the one without the other is unthinkable.
"Where is your uncle?"
"Who?"
"Herb, your uncle."
"He is sleeping. Today was pretty drunk early. "
Henry washes her hair. They are stringy and sticky.
"Why do you live with your uncle? What about your parents? "
" I do not need. "She looks at her toes. The nails are too long.
"But you've got any. Everyone has parents. "
" I'm Elena. "
" But it did not bore you. "
" Yes, she did. "Her neck muscles tense and she shrugs her shoulders. Shakes his hands off. "You do not understand."
She gets out of the tub and he wound up in a huge towel. Dries her hair and combs it. It can be emotionless endure. Then he brought her to bed. She presses her face against his forearm, yawns and pulls the blanket up to her chin high, even over his hand, which it is based on the edge of the bed, and fell asleep.
Henry walks down the creaking steps and followed the dark tracks into the kitchen. The floor tiles are bloody and the cabinets are dark red splashes. Nothing else.
He takes his jacket.
© 2009 Simone wedge
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