Caleb cradled the pistol in his lap, face contorted in pain, unable to block out the sound of the piano. It was Rachmaninoff’s no.2, her favourite piece. He’d watched her perform it the evening they first met.
Every morning he awoke and he could hear it and it never stopped until he closed his eyes to sleep. It’s emptiness, soaring heights, consuming passions and raging emotions all reminders of what he had done and that which he had hidden for so many years.
Enough. He put the pistol in his mouth.
Rebecca smiled, closed the piano lid, and drifted into nothing.
Photo courtesy of lailajuliana @ pixabay