Dennis is tired and this shortening winter day surrenders its watery light to the deepening darkness. Dennis looks at the swans and they stare back at him, mute. What do they think of this folded over man with his jaundiced face and sunken sad eyes? Lips turned down in a perpetual snarl, constantly at war with his world. Long, skeletal fingers clutch an empty wine bottle. Dennis and Sally swam here one warm summer evening a long time ago. The moon and the trees reflected on the calm water of the lake and they held each other. Dennis stands up and walks towards the little wooden jetty. He climbs onto the barrier and throws himself off. In his last moments of consciousness, he feels his nose burst as he crashes through
the ice. He sinks slowly, weighed down by his water-logged coat, into the icy darkness.
Back to Sally.
All Rights. Don Gordon.
Don Gordon is a musician from Glasgow now living in rural Perthshire. A
History Graduate, businessman and aspiring writer. www.bandoliertales.com.
