Kyan’s Guilty Secret

I want to tell you about something that happened to me last year. Rather: something I saw. It’s not like it happened to me.

It was a gray day and I was walking by Turner’s Mill, alongside the creek. Gathering flowers and bark. And I heard something down the creek in the woods. Sounded like somebody chopping on an old tree.

I walked around the briars and raspberries till I got to where the creek feeds the river. I saw him on the other side. Chopping.

It was a girl. She was just dead, I think. Her blood was still what I think living blood should act like. She was naked but you could hardly tell.

I held still.

Her head was smashed and gone in ten minutes. He would bend over and pick up some by her long auburn hair and throw it in the middle of the creek.

She didn’t look like anything—floating by in little pieces; fish food for Mexico.

When there was nothing left an hour later he started to take off his clothes. He put them with hers and her purse and the axe. He got a two gallon red plastic gas container and poured it over the pile. Then set the container in the middle and opened a book of matches. He struck one and tossed the whole book on. It went up.

He grabbed a bar of Ivory off the hood of his Chevy and he waded out into the creek. He washed himself for a long time. When he got out the fire was done. He grabbed some coveralls from behind the seat of his truck. Put them on. Grabbed a shovel out of the bed and shoveled the ashes, the axe head and the melted black plastic into the creek.

Then he looked the place over once, I thought for sure he saw me—he looked right at where I was hiding for a second—but he got in his truck and drove away.

I never told the cops about it. Mostly because when I was eleven, or so, I used to shoplift candy and stuff out of the Safeway all the time…So who am I to judge?


The Denied·»
©1988–2007; all rights reserved

Sedition·com