John Doe 0608201708

It had been a busy day. So many people had come and gone, they all sort of bluured together. But not him. There was something about that boy that engraved itself on her soul.

The face. So young. So peaceful. Almost happy. Almost, but not quite. A convincing mask, but she knew he could not have been truly content.

She stood upon the hill. An umbrella in her hand, unopened. Wet hair clung to her face. A shiver shook her body as she remembered the day she first saw him. He’d smiled up at her. He had two smiles, the one that made you laugh, and that other bloody creepy smile that chilled your soul. Strange that someone could look so happy after being thrown into a dumpster. Some thugs had beaten him up and taken his wallet.

That’s how it started. And this is how it ends. She watched as the shoddy splintering wooden box descended. Just as her scalpel had descended upon him that first day.

Something had stalled her hand that day. Bound to her soul, the young man with the split throat. John Doe, hers forever.

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