Autumn

Last meeting They parted with no hard feelings around midnight. It was winter, and snow was falling on their heads. They parted on an unremarkable street near the bridge, and he waited a long time for them to meet, while she walked slowly, dragging out her arrival. She was coming up behind him, and when he heard the sound of familiar heels, he turned around. Her serpentine eyes, like sparkling emeralds, captivated him again. They met him halfway. He’s slower but more confident, and she’s faster, not wanting to be caught up with him. She dragged her way out of the house until the last moment, put on makeup, sat for a long time with a cigarette in front of the mirror, she just didn’t want to go out. And for what purpose? Their meetings brought only pain to both of them, their parting has long been marked in the passport with the official seal. But so that she wouldn’t have any more doubts, she went to their last meeting. There are no people, just empty streets and unlit streetlights, and this is the last time he sees her face. If only he’d realized how much he needed her sooner. How much. But no, that’s it, it’s too late. Moon. Today, she was the only witness to their last meeting. She kissed him. Her red lipstick was still on his lips, so no one else would be able to look at him. After the kiss, she pulled out her gun and aimed it at his chest, firing.… One minute and he’s dead. Cold… Deader than all the dead. He fell, staggering. When she caught him, she threw the body into the river that raged beneath them, taking its current somewhere in the forest, far beyond the city limits. As she watched the body slowly float away, she glanced at the snow-white coat with the bloodstain on it. I took it off, threw it away, and went to the cafe in a strappy dress. Their last meeting, No. 111, was over. Parted forever, he lay on the riverbank with a hole in his heart, his icy eyes staring up at the sky, at the moon that had also witnessed his death. She was sitting in a cafe, smoking a lot, and the blood under her fingernails, and the red lipstick on her lips that reminded her of a kiss-all belonged to her. Every single one of them. She didn’t want to deny anything. And why? He was all hers, even his death. She raised her glass and said loudly: “To all the men who make us stronger.”