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Setting Sun

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Kitty stared out over the valley from the small porch of the townhouse, her hands gripping the railing white knuckled.
It was a hot evening, and the sun had begun to set, once a brighter vestibule slowly disappearing over the horizon, to leave nothing in its wake but a faint orange glow. There was something in the air today, the stench of mild despair, a film of hopelessness and gloom that had settled over them, they could both feel it.

It pooled heavy, like molasses, gumming up every surface it reached.

Long days of tending to patients in the infirmary and children in the orphanage, changing bed pans, adjusting saline drips, wiping death and viscera off hands, only to watch the same who they had toiled over inevitably succumb to the sickness had taken its toll.
The visage of death was around every corner.
They’d decided.
There was nothing for them here any longer.

Mused from her thoughts she heard a faint rustling of some movement inside the house behind her. The wood of the porch creaked and Walter stepped out from the open door way, the tell tale sound of his quiet footsteps giving him away from the moment his shoes had touched the ground.
she did not turn her head to look at him, staring into the blooming orange of the sky ahead.
He stepped closer, and she could feel his presence behind her, his breath hot on the flesh of her neck.

“Kitty,”
, he whispered, almost inaudibly strained but somber, as if he were a priest leading a quorum in reverent prayer.

He stepped closer over her, and lent his head into the crook of her neck, embracing her from behind. Kitty melted into his touch and turned to face him, their faces inches apart as blue eyes stared into brown.

“It’s time.” he murmured and an understanding look passed between the two.

She felt his warm hands softly against her skin, his touch

And the cold metal of the revolver

One last sweet kiss in the deeping shadows of late

Before

nothing