He followed them to where the woods and the meadow met, the stench of rotting leaves assaulted his nose at every step. They tromped along like a herd of cattle, oblivious of his silent pursuit. The full moon occasionally hid them in the shadows – making his hate darker – while they found it all the more romantic.
With fitted leather gloves; for grip, accuracy, and no fingerprints, he began to pelt them with fist-sized stones he’d hidden in the deep pocket of his smock. He threw the rocks hard and fast, like baseballs.
He was doing the triage of punishment out of historical order, but it was expedient. They didn’t react at first. Their confusion was to his advantage. Turning to him – the direction the rocks were coming from – gave him more time and better aim to knock them out, or at least down.
They fell within seconds. The girl lie quietly but the young man struggled to crawl away. The figure of vengeance ran forward to implement the second element of their punishment, the beatings. He started on the young man first, using his feet instead of his hands. Don’t want to mess up the gloves.
When both were silent, he took out his katana and finished the job.
Placing their heads under each other’s right arm, he gifted each breast with a blessed silver cross.
He lifted his blade to heaven, For you, Valentine. Year five.
He returned the way he’d come, not looking back. This year’s sacrifice was done.
(I canvassed for a writing assignment. This one was definitely a challenge and outside my genre, but weirdly fun. I never would have thought of writing about murder for Valentine’s day. The “triage” came from Priest Valentine’s own martyrdom back in 270 A.D. The head under the right arm …? I’d love more ideas from you creative minds out there!)
Happy Belated (not beheaded) Valentine’s Day!