UNDERGROUND REMEMBRANCES by Greg Lammers
I remember you there. You wore black pants and a black vest. Your shirt was a lighter color, perhaps gray. There was a gold pin on your vest.
You smiled but only with your mouth. Your eyes communicated something else. Determination perhaps? Cruelty? Maybe they communicated nothing. Maybe I am only ascribing words to your eyes now, afterward.
There were evenings of talk about things that mattered little and important things too. You told me that you appreciated that even though we were so different we could have calm conversations about anything.
You stood over me, your face a blank. Maybe there was pity there though and I don’t want to admit it now. I imagine my face was one of surprise. The wound was deep and it hurt a lot at first but not for long.
When my eyes closed I lolled my head to the side. You must have been in a hurry for you ran away before I could say goodbye. Maybe you were shocked by the quantity of blood.
The funeral was quick. The clergyman was a competent bullshitter, more competent than some I’ve heard. The things he said of me were outright fictions. I won’t call them lies because I don’t think he believed there to be some truth for him to grab hold of. He may have been correct in that.
Now again I gather strength from the cool Earth. I’ve died many times, been murdered more than once. But I’ve never encountered such a brilliant and complete betrayal as yours. I commend you for fooling a creature who has lived long enough to convince himself that he couldn’t be fooled.
You can be sure though, I will return for you.