A dark soul

There was nobody nearby. She was sure of that. The hushed whispers of the wind made her conscious of her surroundings. She collected herself and walked forward calmly. Even though there seemed to be no one around, she could feel someone watching her. Watching her doing what no one should do. What no one should watch. The sky was cloudy, and it looked as if it would rain soon. Not the kind that you could sit by the window and read a book while drinking hot cocoa. The kind that makes roaring sounds and sends shivers down your spine. She hurried, realising she didn't have much time. Sweat pouring down her forehead, and her heart beating quite rapidly she stood up slowly. She stared at the ground, taking off her silk gloves, covered in blood if you must know, and her knife and threw them there. She looked around again. Her eyes met mine. I looked away. She didn't say a thing. She just smiled. A malicious, creepy smile, a Cheshire Cat smile. I stood there staring as she walked away from the horrendous scene, having nothing to do with it, an act. She turned one last time, her eyes met mine again. This time I didn't look away. I stared right into my soul.

(This passage is the fictional story that the poem 'A dark soul' is based on. Both, the poem and this short story, are original and fictional)

(Image cred: youreadmymind)