By Glen Bawan
I remember the cold nights. We used to dance under the dim moonlight. The old acacia tree has been the symbol of our love; it witnessed all the laughter and kisses we had and the times we stayed there to fire up the night. The beauty of my dearest woman was like the most beautiful flower in the deep night, and she gave me a longing for her beauty. But the sadness began when she left me alone in the dark. I hold this locket with a picture of hers; I hold it as if it were her hands. She said she would never leave me and made a promise, but she broke it as she broke my heart.
We love each other until she found another man—a man far better than me, a man whose companion makes her happier. This was the beginning of my sorrow. But I concealed it and all the resentments and pretended everything was all right. I asked her to meet me for the last time to say goodbye, at the place where we started and shared our love, at the old acacia tree by nightfall.
I knew that that night would be the last night that I would see my dearest woman. The cold breeze was touching my skin as I waited for her below the old tree. The night was getting deeper and the place was filled with the sound of the crickets and rustling leaves. And at last, she came with a smile but treachery in her eyes. She walked towards me and I greeted her with an embrace. She was like a beautiful flower indeed, and the only thing in my mind that night was if I didn’t pick the flower, someone else will. I gave her a soft touch from her shoulder up to her neck as I slowly slid down my hand into my pocket, reaching for my knife. I kissed her in the forehead, kissed her goodbye, and then I pulled my hand from my pocket, cut her throat with the knife in my hand while looking at her beautiful but treacherous eyes. The blood ran down to her bosom; her body was soaked with her own blood. It revealed that the color of the flower I picked when kissed by the dim moonlight was blood red.
“Moonlight Flower” © 2014 Glen Bawan
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