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08-05-2012, 10:17 PM
The man walked slowly along the shore of the swamp, mud splashing up his legs, ruining his dress pants and shoes. He stared blankly ahead, searching for something; his target he knew was just up ahead. He stopped walking and stared down into the water, watching a white form bob under the surface. Curiously, he bent, his graying once-dark hair falling into his eyes as he pulled the thing out from under-water. He heaved the body to shore and laid the white, dead form in the muck. Blood stains cropped up here and there on the little girl, her hair tangled with weeds from the depths of the water. The man sighed in regret, feeling the guilt of her death all over again. When she was killed, he had fled the scene in fear he would be found, before returning to haul the body and the weapon to the nearby swamp. His eyes swam with tears at having taken her innocent life. He stood again and went back to the water, eyes searching for another target. Acquired, he stooped and pulled a blue-ish rod from the glassy pool, a weed tangled and curled around it. The algae had changed the color, wearing away the blood stain. He stood staring at the weapon, and glanced once more at the body. In rage, he turned and threw the rod deep into the middle of the swamp, tears of remorse streaming down his face. How much the parents of this girl must have missed her. How much he regretted his rash behavior. The sun beat down on him and he wished for dark days, a breeze at the least. Florida was no place for him anymore. He must run again. He dragged the girl back in to the depths. Kneeling beside her, he whispered a broken, “I’m sorry.” He straightened and ran, ran towards his truck, the thing that would take him as far away as possible: Alaska.
