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The Church at Dawn |
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The Final Chapter He squints his eyes, lowers the rim of his hat, frowns. The clouds are white, the sky blue, the air brisk. The birds chirp, the leaves crunch, &c. There is a figure lying on the steps of the large, stone church ahead. He rubs the wrinkled sleeve of his jacket, adjusts his spectacles. His hands are chapped, the whites of his eyes not-quite white. He lets out a sharp, clipped cough and clears his throat. Seconds pass. Someone groans. Now he is on the ground, a spattering of red, sticky wetness on the lip of his chestnut-brown shoe. It appears as if he has slipped on something, perhaps an animal carcass. There is a streak of blood upon the tarmac, the leaves, his clothing. His hat has landed somewhere behind his head. There is more blood there. The black spot on his upper lip has spread across his face, has eclipsed it. The clouds are white, the sky blue, the air brisk. The birds chirp, the leaves crunch, &c. A man steps out of a car, adjusts his hat, and begins to walk. He does not stop until he reaches the church. |
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