He fished a form from the drawer and scribbled the name and other case details. Under the ‘Cause of Death’ he wrote: Natural Causes.
He’s not in a proper state of mind. As an actor, he used to ‘get inside’ a character which finally triggered an identity disorder when he found his wife cheating.
Jack took a few steps back, and then ran towards the large glass window in his office on the 30th floor. Ryan looked sadly at his attempt.
That’s when it hit me. Miller. Alice Miller. The girl I had an affair with. She kept a framed photograph of herself and her husband on the bedside table.
It looks like he died of natural causes… there was some blood on his forehead – probably his, but his injury doesn’t seem fatal.
“Yup!” Sam chimed in. “it’s the classic double dip. She cleans you out. Then one day she mysteriously gets the photos… and then she cleans you out again!”
This is a dark poem.The girl dies. She has this something she wants to do- figure out her life. And she tries all her life to do it. But she fails. And dies.
I wipe the tears with the back of my hand and close the little diary. It is 15 years later and I’m in a taxi in America where my mum lives.
I’m breathing this to you,sighing, singing softly,from a stage,with no one to watch,from atop a hill
with a twirling, descending valley path,adorned with slivers,of silver twilight
She’s a sea- endless;her sea is a wishing well.Her eyes- pools tiny, reflecting my light;her mouth is a river,that flows unsure.