An impromptu short-story inspired by a line from the movie Julian Po
. . I shivered as I read her note. "I will wait for you always, on the other, better, side. Love, Sara."
. . God what has she done? Where is my Sara? Her shoes! Her jacket is gone as well! How long was I asleep? It's only 7:00 AM, not that long then. Where would she have gone if this letter means what I think it does? Why would she choose to end it now of all times?
. . A million thoughts raced through my mind. Why? When? Is it too late? I jumped out of bed and threw my pants back on, stumbling over the dog and his chunk of raw-hide. I always did think it was weird that she liked the dog in the room. Where are my shoes? Fuck my shoes, they were here last night, but my slippers are here. Keys? Where are my keys! Gone, she has them. Fuck. Her keys. Did she take them too? They're not in her purse. Her purse! She never goes anywhere without that damn bag. Her spare keys in the dresser. Shirt. Go!
. . I raced to the bridge down the street, not a quarter mile away. Nothing there. Where else might she have gone. I know! The spot on the hill where we picnicked so many months ago. What am I talking about? It was three months ago. Last October, when the leaves were changing. What did I do to this poor child of a woman? So delicate, so fragile, why did I ever get upset with her? Why was our relationship so volatile? Where the fuck is she?
. . Her dress! On the edge of the wood, but not where we picnicked, I thought there was only a field back there. Question that one later. Focus!! Why do I always hook-up with nut-jobs? Are there any women who don't need a crutch? There, down that path, her bra.
. . I ran. I ran hard. Her love for me, my love for her. I had finally found her. She had found me. The one. We fit. We loved. We fought. We lusted. We ran. We walked. Now I ran. Alone, in the cold January snow. Her tracks veered suddenly off the beaten path, deep into the wood. As did another, larger set of tracks. It had to be eight by now, very light out. I veered off as well, speeding up to a fast jog, wheezing. Blood started showing up. Bad.
. . Worry. Fear. Anger raged through my body. How could she do this? To me of all people. The she loved. The one who loved her twice as much. Why did she do this? Maybe she's still alive.
. . Then I found her. Cold in the snowy depths of winter, laying beside a snow-angel. Separated by nothing but a circle of frozen, red snow. She lay there now, with terror in her eyes, naked, cold and blue. I threw up. I couldn't handle this, my baby, my true love.
. . Why did we spend our last night together in a drunken stupor followed up by a pathetic night in bed? And why are my keys in the snow by the second set of footprints leading away? Then I saw it, in the distance.