There is a tombstone in Jansen Park Cemetery that presides over an old, unkempt grave partially hidden in weeds. The tombstone reads: Colin Herbert Aston 17 March 1884 - 19 April 1911. 6 feet under the tombstone, in the dull oak coffin, Colin's skeleton lay incomplete: the bones of his forearms were missing.
This is his story.
Colin was the town's Casanova, a rich, handsome, young man who was the apple of every lady's eye, and the envy of every man in New Montevideo. At 20, he had inherited his father's successful textiles business. While he was rather inept at tailoring or weaving, Colin was a shrewd judge of character and had used this talent to employ and retain the right people to keep Aston's Textiles Company the clothing juggernaut it was at that time. It was a quality he had learnt from his father - and as his youth blossomed, he used it on his premier pursuit - women. He knew what would excite them, what would make their hearts go a-flutter and anything else that was needed to bed them.
And after that, he would gently sever ties with them.
It was spring 1911, April showering New Montevideo with colours that brought the town to life. Garden flowers bestowed the eyes with bright reds and blues along with yellow daffodils, as the grass they grow with paint a fresh green backdrop that paid homage to the beauty of Mother Nature. The denizens of New Montevideo flocked to Jansen Park - they wanted to bathe themselves in spring's wondrous, coloured glory.
It was early afternoon as Colin jauntily walked into Jansen Park. Its large wrought iron gates were sisters to the gate that could be found half a mile into the park - the gates of Jansen Park Cemetary.
Jansen Park was crowded then, and Colin realised that though his pickings were hardly slim (and as he thought this, he passed by a rather rotund woman and sniggered to himself) the sheer number of human bodies that thronged the public green was not conducive for romancing.
With a sigh, Colin buried his hands deep inside the pockets of his coat, and trudged away from the crowd.
He passed by one of his employees, who took off his hat cheerfully at Colin, adding a, "Blessed day, Mister Colin!" Colin forced a smile and grunted a perfunctory reply.
Subconsciously, his feet took him towards the Jansen Park Cemetery gates, and as the darker, deadened air drew him closer, the noises from the townsfolk less than half a mile behind him faded away, muffled and forgotten.
He slumped into the bench by the cemetery's gates, amorous and alone.
A flicker of movement flashed at the corner of his eyes. He turned, and there, sitting two benches from him, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She was an Asian lady - you would see her kind every now and then, mostly stowaways in ships from the Orient. But this, Colin thought, this was a fine specimen!
She was fair, and her supple skin contrasted beautifully with her jet black hair. Her eyes were almost feline - and window to the soul my dirty breeches, Colin thought, as her eyes seemed to hide her person, shrouding her enigmatically. The young man stared harder into the lady's eyes. They were grey.
She was wearing a white dress that did not do justice to her body - it did not hug any of her curves, or exhibit any amount of tantalizing skin other than her head.
And then she was smiling at him, full, luscious lips parting sensually to give a peek of beautiful white teeth. Then she stood, and walked towards him. Colin, usually suave and calm, heard his thoughts stutter, felt his brain work faster than it ever had, and saw a slight tremor in his hands that he could not control.
She stopped before him, standing over him as he sat helplessly on the bench. They stared at one another, blue eyes yearning for the grey.
Then, wordlessly, she swept away, into the open gates of Jansen Park Cemetery.
It took a while before Colin's mind returned to his head, and with a mad rush, he followed the mysterious oriental lady.
Colin rushed up the hill, sprinted between two angel oak trees, down a short slope, past a few old benches, past the crypt, past the clearing, into the plot of land that housed the oldest dead - the burial grounds of the first immigrants to New Montevideo. The lady was standing there, next to an ancient tombstone that had already crumbled in half.
"Hey," Colin said. "You gave me quite an exercise there." He allowed himself a smile at being able to calm his previously-convulsing brain.
The lady stood there, motionless. Her beautiful face was impassive, unreadable.
The sun, that had shone so benevolently at Jansen Park, was anonymous here, shut away from this part of the cemetery by gnarled, ancient elder trees.
The full luscious lips twitched, then parted to form a smile. Colin felt his insides churn with lust.
The lady raised her hand, and Colin could only stare stupidly at it. Then she pulled her dress up quickly, and tossed it away.
It all happened in a blur, and within that blur, Colin felt intense stirrings in his trousers. And within that split second after that blur, Colin realised she was naked, and his brain immediately took in her large, pert breasts.
Then something glinted in the shade.
And Colin saw a blur that was metallic but began with the lady's hands.
And the blur flashed and careened.
Then Colin felt a sharp pain in his arms. He held up his hands, and only saw two bleeding stumps at his elbow, fountains of blood jetting violently.
He yelled, but the sound got caught in his throat; then forced back down into the depths of his being by an unknown, sinister force.
He was helpless as he stumbled backwards, and his eyes registered the woman, standing there beautifully naked, her hands clutching a long sword embellished with his blood.
"Good morrow, Colin," she said as he lost consciousness....
"Aren't you a handsome man."
No comments:
Post a Comment