No Reason to Whisper

A Rose Out of Season

The pale, dark haired women steeped into the alleyway. One hand firmly pressed up against her nose, warm blood running down her forearm, dripping off the tip of her elbow. The other, rummaging through a small bag, desperately looking for tissue. She couldn’t help but shiver a bit in the chilly October air.

Chucking the cigarette from his hand, a tall, slender man approached her from the back of the alleyway. Reaching one hand for his handkerchief, he got closer to the woman. “Excuse me, ma’m" his voice was deep, yet inviting, "you might need this." He extended his arm,¬†handkerchief in hand, to her.

A synester, yet seemingly coy smile bloomed on her face, like a rose out of season. She had found her new victim.

Theme By Idraki and Powered by Tumblr 2010.
Typerwriter and Paper Image Courtesy of Google. Icon Credited to Webdesignerdepot