An inner fire, now smothered as the shadows of his past whispered challenges to the night.
A duel, to the death.
His guilt, victorious
His crooked smile faltered – something amiss, his chances fading.
His face grew sickly, until it matched his jeans, all washed out.
The thief stood, vicious, victorious, his victim whimpered before the bite of his machete.
He was callow, untested.
His appellation was untrue, intimate details spilled from his lips, a vocabulary unhinted at the night before.
Private Jones told all.
A hesitant smile, as she brushed her chocolate fringe away from her eyes.
“I love you” I whispered.
I extrapolate too much