Early Morning Sun (600 wds)

Idyllic was their special place - well that is to say if the stinging ivy didn’t grow in such abundance on the trail down there; vicious and bringing Horace’s skin up like the cottage cheese often included in the picnic basket.  He didn’t seem to notice though.  He smiled into Melinda’s face; he’d never been sadder than at that moment.  She gazed back with the huge eyes he’d so fallen in love with.

The moist of evening, now finished cleansing the grass of the staleness of cow and sheep pee, was being beckoned upwards.  The dissipating mist lingered anyway; polishing leaves on the dense hedgerows, perhaps this time hoping it would get to lick the top branches of some of the dusty trees.  They needed a good old spring clean; it’d been quite a while since they’d been washed.  But the summer had been long; it had invaded and conquered the fall.  The winter snow would have to bleach the mess left behind.

Not many knew of the clearing; certainly nature concealed it perfectly; a small pea green grass patch where buttercups and daisies grew.  Tall Cypress trees created an imploding cathedral ceiling that provided just sufficient shade from the high sun.  Melinda’s provisional engagement ring had been made of a buttercup. A necklace of daisies augmented her swanlike neck, making it irresistible to Horace’s parched lips.  Now the tiny flowers were pressed in a bible, long since replaced by more everlasting gems - a yellow Ceylon and diamond ring and a symphony of sapphire ovals served a décolletage that still enticed his lips. They’d cost a fortune; in fact it had taken the first few years of their marriage to pay them off, but he’d promised to be her Prince Charming and he always kept his word.  Melinda knew that better than anyone – well perhaps next to his brother Jeremy.

There was an acrid smell permeating the air.  Despite the dryness throughout the forest, some foliage in denser areas that didn’t see much sun was beginning to rot; the early morning dampness of the last two weeks putting the final touches to the decaying process that would absorb as mulch into the cathedral’s floor.  But Horace rather suspected the odour might be coming from Melinda.  She couldn’t have helped it, but that morning she’d messed herself.  She would be mortified, always so perfect, so beautifully presented, in control, flirtatious.  He would bathe her in the small stream where they’d cooled their ankles often after a beautiful afternoon of burning passion of two meant to be together.  It was more than she deserved though.  Much more.

He’d trod that trail only two days prior.  It had been a harder slog with Jeremy; but this time had been easier; the groundwork was done. The dawn was expanding and Horace was relieved to see the place undisturbed.  The carefully carved grass slabs had already started to meld perfectly where he’d transplanted them neatly atop one of the deep holes he’d dug. Small wildflowers still grew from them. 

Exhausted, and stopping to tell her that despite everything he would love her forever, he sloshed her limp body through the murky stream, cleaning away the feces that had run down her leg.  She still wore the red low-cut dress from her liaison with Jeremy two nights ago - the one he’d interrupted, intending to surprise her.  It didn’t look quite so sexy now.

He removed her jewels before kicking her into the hole where she landed head first.  He heard that slender neck crack - but it didn’t matter; she was already dead.

Suddenly his hives bothered him.