Drabble Series: My Fatal Choice

There is a radio droning on beside him, the volume low. Reports of traffic, clear, summer days, an end to the war, all white noise. All these ebb and flow, are moments which pass and come again. A life, though, comes once and then there’s only dust. My love belonged to dust, and I know nothing of spirits or souls. I only know she’s dead, know her pillow smells of her, know he sold her ring to the man who sold it back to me. A thief, a strangler, and like most men, not knowing when or how he’d die.