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Unless he decided to keep it.In that case it would be a trophy of his conquest, a fetish of his kill. Would he masturbate over it, sniff the worn leather where her painted toes had pressed as he fucked her one last time, cum at the memory of her sphincter convulsively squeezing his shaft as he cut off her airway, her dwindling passage to life? Christ help her, it gave her a kind of pleasure to think she could give anyone pleasure even after she was dead; it was a kind of immortality, after all, wasn’t it?Perhaps she ought even to be grateful to him for delivering her from mortality, for raising her out of mundanaeity. There were many worse ways to die. Cancer, for instance. Perhaps she could try to see him as a priest performing a sacrament, as her own personal savior delivering her from sickness, old age, a common death. Maybe that would make it easier to accept, and at this point making it easier seemed the only goal worth pursuing. She had no more future, that was certain; no more. Gone but never forgotten had been spelled out in daffodils. The service was only thirty minutes long, but that was thirty minutes more than he thought it would be, or deserved. As the crowd started to leave, cautiously, he slid fully behind the tree out of sight. Now was not the time to be noticed. After the last teary-eyed mourner had left the haloed ground, he moved swiftly to the plaque. Picking up each card in turn, the one that hit him the most read, you loved the ocean, now rest in peace within its tranquil arms.It had been three years since the search for the last body of the plane crash had been finalised and filed as lost at sea, but this was the first time Dan had attended his own memorial service.Standing up, smoothing the creases from his trousers, he listens intently. The sound of the wind blew softly through the trees, as though to caress and calm each fragile leaf. Closing his eyes, the deathly silence, broken only by the loving chorus of birdsong, calmed him. Wiping.
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