Coward

A young man passes a woman. They walk past without passing a glance, and continue on their opposite ways. The woman is an attractive sort; mildly curled hair, blue eyes, well done makeup covers some of her lightly pallid skin. She wears average clothes, but somehow makes them look more attractive than if it were on another woman. She has a small bag over her shoulder and walks with quick steps for one of her height. Almost an unreal beauty fills her every action, like she somehow molded her motions like an artist molds clay into a work of art. Despite all these elegant features, she has a sort of sad look on her face. As if she had recently lost someone dear to her.

She walks and eventually comes to a bus stop, where a bus was waiting. She enters, sneaking on with the crowd to avoid paying. As she sits down in the crowded area, the bus starts to move and she loses balance and bumps the person next to her. She apologizes, with a voice as lovely as her person. It was more singing than speaking, but no one seemed to notice. Her eyes watch out a window, in deep thought of some sort. The bus approaches it's stop and she stands.

She exits the vehicle and turns down the sidewalk towards the outskirts of town. She walks for two or three minutes until she approaches a small house slightly higher than the others on the street. It was old and worn. Pieces of paint were chipping off onto dying grass. This place, which was her home, served as a contrast to her beauty. To think that elegance comes from a dying place is a grand idea rarely common in this day. She approaches the door and enters.

Upon her entry, she shrieks. A dead man hung by his neck swung slowly in the entry room to the house. He was naked and covered in cuts which formed letters, words, an entire note written in his body. The largest of these words was written on his neck: coward. These bloody words were complimented by an image of a crown of thorns on his head. This frightened the woman, who in her fear had turned into a crying girl, shrunk in the corner. Her eyes were full of emotion; shock, horror, confusion. These eyes turned to read some of the words, for the face was too scarred to recognize. These words read this message:

Dear sweet Ashley,
I have known you for years, begging for you to see me. The times I have seen you have been torture, watching you move in the most graceful way, but never having the courage to talk to you. So, I name myself a coward and ask you to not be angry with me, nor to mourn for me. I only ask that you pity me. Pity me for never telling you your beauty. Pity me for never telling you my feelings for you, my love. Understand this, that this is not your fault, but mine. I am to much of a fearful fool, that I could never tell you that I love you, and always have. I did this to die and be happy. Now I can be with you forever, dancing with you in the abyss where I surely now lie. This was never a lustful desire, but one from the heart. My heart was always yours, although you would never want a heart as decayed as mine. You deserve happiness, for your very beauty is one to be appreciated. Pity me, but understand this was my desire. Your beauty is what kept me alive and it is what I have chosen to die for. This is goodbye - The Coward

As she read, the horror lessened and was replaced by a deep sadness. Her heart felt heavy and her eyes stopped crying. This inaction kept a lump in her throat, as she sat and thought. She could not think of who this was nor could she think of what to do. As she sat and her tears reached the bottom of her jaw, the man's blood traveled and dripped onto the floor beneath the body. On the man's face there was a smile, a happiness that had never occurred before.