Entry #85

Dusk Till Dark
by Richard M. Johnson


So pretty, Gillian thought as she lay on her back, the cold earth beneath her dirtying her strawberry blonde hair and magenta blouse. The stars were beginning to appear, scattered here and there across the sky like silver colored guppies poking their head through the thin veneer of the surface of water.

The cold was beginning to creep slowly into the recesses of her bones, but she didn’t care anymore. The fading evening light shifted from the dull rippling hues of red and orange, to the somber blues and purples of night..

Gillian closed her eyes, wincing at the pain. She never should have allowed Marcus bring her this far out into the wilderness. She felt stupid, and foolish looking up from the bottom of the makeshift grave as Marcus’ silhouette framed itself between the edges of the shallow hole.

“Why?...” She barely managed to squeak out.

Leaning down on one knee, Marcus grinned. “So, you’re finally awake.” Reaching down, he gently stroked her blood caked cheek. “Three months pregnant, huh? Simple mistake... How could you possibly know I can’t have children?” Marcus stood. “Pity. I really did love you”.

Gillian felt the first shovel of dirt strike her chest, and tried desperately to close her eyes. Through the half open lids, she thought she saw the shadow of an angel spreading its wings against the darkness and she hoped with a fervent prayer that it was there to take her home.


(Richard M. Johnson is a screenwriter, playwright and poet. His most current work can be found on the web at Hot Valley Writers, and Six Sentences.)