The Last Blow Mystery

Prologue: What I Do On Our Anniversary

              What do husbands and wives do on their anniversary? Do they kiss? Date? Eat? Go on vacation? Make love…?

              I don’t know. You tell me. I’m not as creative as I am supposed to be. I believe the things I have mentioned are acceptable and worth trying (if you haven’t already). Derek and I can do all those things in a heartbeat, but I would much rather do what’s not normally done. I carry the rebel vibe anyway. But I’m lazy and not in the mood for moving, so I can just sit here… reminisce and recall the events that led us to where we are now – very much married…

The Last Blow Mystery

              There is a poem somewhere. A poem about the things he could never tell to her face – Cheyenne, who cried and wondered and held on to his calves, so he could not walk away. Cheyenne who pleaded, with tears in her eyes, “Don’t leave me please. I’ll be good; I promise. Just don’t leave me! And please tell me why…”

              He peeled her fingers off his calves, one by one – those dainty and girly feminine fingers that used to brush his cheek and claw on his back for anchorage –  “I can’t anymore,” he said, “and there’s a poem somewhere… the things I cannot tell you.”

              “Poem? What poem? What’s in the poem?” beseeched Cheyenne.

              “I call it The Last Blow. I cannot tell you about it… not here… not like this… not now.”

              “What have I done? Why do you leave? Is it in the poem… the answers?”

              He looked at Cheyenne’s eyes – her once innocent and trusting eyes. I took the glimmer from your eyes, Cheyennethat was why I wrote the last blow.

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