A song is heard between the sinking mire and the looming, grey sky. Before the storm had come, the reeds whispered. Such is the way of dreams, and secrets pave strange paths through the wilderness of the mind. The truth of these tales that were related to me, well, how can I know? The storm came, and what real evidence is there but a memory? Yet, shall I tell you what I heard? It may interest you. When that first chill blew over and my heart sank, when the first longing moans sang their low hum, after you had washed your hands in the murky pool, a thought, a fear, suspicion, that your palms were red ere our paths happened to cross. This was before, of course, I myself was found beside the body, and there was a whispering then, some subtle hints in your manner…
Instinct warned, but curiosity drew me on. Do you remember our talk? I could feel you sizing me up in your short, muttered answers. “Could this be a scapegoat?” you almost say. Yet, here we are, you behind these bars and shortly awaiting the rope. I think it would have been better for you to lead me away from the crime instead of into it. You’re not that good at improvisation.
I shall resume my journey soon, and out across the mire once more tread. I think, perhaps, I shall hear on the winds, a new voice, another lost soul, crying in the reeds.
Tale Told 