A Final Kiss

He tore off the page, looked at it for a few seconds, then tossed it
into the bin with the others. He had no idea how to begin. His head
felt too heavy, as if it was overflowing with useless thoughts and
emotion. It was the emotion that was affecting him so deeply. He was
sick of feeling like this - this hollow, depressed and stressful
feeling he just couldn't describe. He looked at his pen for a moment,
then set it down next to the pad.
He walked over to the window and looked out into the frosty night. He
could see the tops of trees in the distance, dwarfed by the rows of
council houses in the nearby streets. A finger crept lazily to his
cheek and extinguished an itch.
"Is this what my life's come to now?" he thought morosely to himself.
"Living life a detail at a time?"
He stood there, thinking, watching as a group of schoolchildren played
in the grey, grit covered snow.
At length he strode silently back to the desk and sat down. He picked
up the pen and glanced sullenly at the bin in the corner. It was filled
with paper.
He took a deep breath, and wrote "Dear Judy," at the top of a fresh
sheet of paper. A single bizarre thought raced through his mind: This
is the seventh letter you've started - better make it count - seven is
very important. He stopped. He had no idea where this thought had come
from. He had never been superstitious, and had never known of any
connection to the number seven. As he sat there thinking, his eyes
happened to catch a reflection in the mirror on the wall. From where he
sat, he had a perfect view of the bed behind him, and the beautiful
woman asleep in it. He sighed, and turned his head back to the
page.
He wanted to tell her what she meant to him, how much he cared about
her, but he found his words failed him. He knew, however, she would
soon stir, and he did not want to be caught sat up, writing this
note.
"If that happened," he thought to himself with a smile, "it would take
all the romance and fantasy out of the affair."
She had to know, it was as simple as that, but he did not have the
courage to tell her face to face.
He looked at the page. "Dear Judy," He pushed the top of the pen onto
the pad and before he knew he was writing, the words "I'm sorry" flowed
neatly out of the end of it.
He looked at his letter. So far so good. The pen returned once more to
the paper and he watched as the words "I'm not like other men" issued
from it's tip. He looked at the line with contempt. He had promised
himself he wouldn't use clich?s, and yet that line from a thousand
horror stories had just squirmed it's way onto the page. He moved to
screw the letter up, but stopped.
Seven.
He was due to leave at seven o'clock. He checked his watch. 6:47
glared back at him. He needed to get the letter finished before she
woke. His head was buzzing again, his heart racing for no reason he
could ascertain.
"Is this what madness feels like?" he silently asked the room. For a
minute he sat, waiting for an answer, then turned his focus once again
to the paper.
"I should have told you this when we met," his pen continued, "but I
cared about you so much I couldn't jeopardise our relationship. I'm
leaving today. I don't know if I will return. I can't expect you to
wait for me - I don't even know if you'll still be here when I do, but
I want you to know - "
He stopped. He hadn't come to fall in love - it was the last emotion
he had expected to feel, yet he was sure that this was why his heart
beat fast when he saw her, and faster when he thought of leaving
her.
The pen returned to the page - "I love you" it finished. Suddenly, a
bright light filled the room from the open window. He looked around at
Judy, to see if she had stirred, but she remained peaceful. He quickly
signed the page with the name he had been using for the last six
months, and folded the letter. He glanced at the calendar to date it,
and his heart skipped a beat. He had not checked the date for a long
time, waiting only for the signal from his people, and he had to smile
to himself as he wrote "7th July, 1997".
The lights flashed impatiently from outside, and he turned to go. At
the door, he turned back to look at Judy. She slept on, her chest
gently rising and falling. He placed a finger to his lip, then waved it
at her. He stared for what would be the last time at her striking
features, and then left the house, banging the door.
The noise startled Judy, who awoke and opened her eyes. She stared at
the wall for a second, then turned over, seeking her partner. Had she
turned seconds earlier, she would have seen the lights outside rise
into the air, and shoot off upwards into oblivion.