The moonlight cascading through the shimmering leaves of the lonesome tree was an unsullied white. The tree weighed down by its loneliness perhaps was bent over in eternal apology and shame. And under it we were playing out our whimsical farce, our unique parody of a season long courtship. As the pacific purity of the moonlight showered its abundance on the stacked wooden floor through that enormous skylight, the non-existant roof of that singular log cabin, even our shadows seemed bright..
A sudden gust of the previously lurking wind rose up among the full, weighty boughs of that lonely tree and as it rose it seemed to pass along a secret that the vibrant leaves whispered to each other. Slowly it grew, rising in a crescendo of cacophonous bloodlust and the tree let out a final carrying sigh of countless whispers saying killkillkillkillkill... marked with an exclamation of intent, its spine cracked as an outlet for the violence it was witnessing. I needed no further encouragement and I ended our flirtatious dance closing the wary distance between us. As she fell, her shadow bright, shortened in an exaggerated and elaborate mimicry of her fall.
The blood was a blemish against the stark whiteness of the moonlight. And have you noticed, blood seems to shimmer with an ethereal quality under that brilliant light of a full moon. Even the violence seemed fantastical under that light. For a moment I doubted I was there, but then I heard it: The profound silence of the satisfied wind and the shimmering leaves. The tree seemed a little straighter; it had found a companion tonight.
