He leaves lilies. White stargazer lilies. An afterthought, a pure fingerprint on a grisly, horrid scene.
I watched the news to learn the women’s names, as if they pieced a puzzle that could be solved. Notebooks filled with scribbled writing and folders of torn newspapers, amounting to nothing.
The lilies haunted me. Earthly cousins to ethereal Milky Way, grounded stars, faces turned to heaven. Outcast from the Kingdom.
Everyone thinks he places them afterwards. But I opened my door to find them staring at me, necks craned upward in a silent dirge. Condolence for my loss, as I attend my own funeral.