A Night In Utopia

The shadows crawl out of the night and the howl of wolves whispers at my ear. The Emperor’s troops lie dead in the park, their bright red uniforms good now only for costuming the indecency of the naked dead. The stars look down, specks of light spattered against the warm dark sky. But the night is no longer a friend.

My knife is stained with still wet blood. I wipe it off for I’ll need it for the night ahead. The stones there on the left, jumbled marble slabs, are not grave stones, which makes it worse. The trees do not move and that is bad. The water in the brook is only water and that is worse still.

On my breast I wear an emblem, cast in iron. I wore it as a child before I had the misfortune to be happy. I wear it now but it has no merit other than it once saved my life. For as little as that I walk in fear in the night.

Before me, on a bench, sit two lovers. For them the night has no horror; to them the night is filled with peace and the quiet joyous excitement of being in love. And I had thought the Gods were kind.

The wind is rising. The branches are starting to rustle and the shadows flicker. The gravel crunches under my feet as I hurry along.