Geese like black dots fly far away against the gray autumn sky. The lake is still, surrounded only by thick woods, no animals or humans anywhere. Except me. And the corpse on the makeshift pyre, piled high with sticks and wilted weeds.
I light the pyre and shove it off from the bank; it drifts slowly out into the center of the lake. The flames spread and climb up into the cold air as the pyre, in small, charred pieces sinks.
No one will ever find the body. No one will know I murdered him. His death, my freedom.
I light the pyre and shove it off from the bank; it drifts slowly out into the center of the lake. The flames spread and climb up into the cold air as the pyre, in small, charred pieces sinks.
No one will ever find the body. No one will know I murdered him. His death, my freedom.
