I strike the match head
and watch as the flame takes hold
smoke curling upwards
I looked at her, longing; not for the first time, for a different outcome. Her large blue eyes seemed to be speaking to me, the words her mouth could not. I ran my gaze over her milky skin and fiery red hair and thought how much I loved her. She had shared my house and made it a home. She had kept me company when no one else could tolerate me. My Alice had been special once. Until they’d suspected I had her and now she had to go. I tossed the stolen painting onto the small pyre, veiling my eyes from such sorrow.
The match head is struck
flames lick over the painting
the redhead now burned.
By Sarah ©2017
Image credit Creative Commons. Portrait of Alice Guerin by Paul Cesar Helleu