I struggle each night to remember the colours of my youth. To give some flavour or flair to my memories. To give them life, played out as they are in murmurs, rumors only half-heard.
Your heart quickens as I whisper into your ear, my breath a cool breeze against it as I arrive unannounced. Your collar is up – a shield against the night, your only protection against the bitingly icy touch of the wind. I am too close now.
You will never escape me.
A moment of glorious colour – deep maroon splashes against the grey cobblestones. The pale glow of your flesh reflecting the moonlight. It is rare to find a night as dark as this – rare to find a corner shrouded so, blackened and hidden from the near ever-advancing fingers of neon thrown into the night.
Thrown out impotently. Thrown out for your protection.
The birth of forbidden knowledge overwhelms you, the birth of your death, unseen moments before. A stranger sweeps down upon you nib the street as you walk home, a stranger with a hidden smile and a forked tongue. An intimate moment to be shared.
Not the one you imagined – nothing so public or so vulgar as that.
Maroon and grey, the deepening blue of the night sky. They are all shades of grey, shades of black. I struggle in the night under the weight of colour’s absence, struggling to remember their presence in my youth, the youth of this world.
Your most intimate moment, I shall treasure it forever.
You are my seventy-ninth kill – I need not feast endlessly.
I am settling my account, not keeping score.
This story was written for one of this week’s three Trifecta Writing Challenge prompts: Score: (a) an account or reckoning originally kept by making marks on a tally
(b) amount due: indebtedness. I think I used it correctly, didn’t I? I did try…anyway, happy 33rd Trifecta prompt you guys!