The Silence of the Night

The silence of night descended upon our sorry crew. No thought of forgiveness nor the recourse of repentance came to our minds: tonight we died. I was the first to die. I stood up from the cold sidewalk where I had leaned against the accompanying building’s brickwork.

“Goodnight,” said I to my friends, “and to see you again in some sunrise I pray.” So they in assent their expressionless faces turned to me. Only was Maria ashamed to look, to meet my gaze. I tried not to cry, and if to cry, let it be but tears without sighs, that I might say more to them, “I’ll make some noise, and then they’ll be after me. So run quietly.”

I went away from them with hands stuck in my pockets against the cold. Whistling, I cared not now whom it annoyed, I let the shrill notes fly, piercing the muffling darkness. Glancing over my shoulder once, I watched them go, and there Maria was, her bloodshot eyes fixed upon me. I waved goodbye, and entered the silence of the night.