The Odour Of The Nicotiana by The Nameless

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THE ODOUR OF THE NICOTIANA

He was standing under the old lime tree beside the fountain. He saw children playing, he heard old ladies gossiping and from time to time, he could feel the gentle caress of the evening breeze. The sun was already bathing in red, orange and pink and the odour of the nicotiana filled the moist air. Everything was so peaceful, so undisturbed, so perfect...

He started walking forth and back, looked at his watch. It was 7 and 10. He stopped. He took a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it and started walking again. He went to the fountain, sat down at the edge of it and stared into the water. He saw a man's reflection. He stared and stared, after a while, it seemed to him that he was staring into the nothing. Then, suddenly, he saw the reflection of a man and of the red dress, of the shiny black hair and of the deep eyes.

'You came', he said.

'Yes'.

'Did you bring it?'

'Yes'.

'Good'.

She sat down next to him quietly and looked around of fear that someone might hear them. Then they started discussing the plan. They plunged into the details: when and where, who and how. By the time they have finished their dreadful conversation and set the precise time of the murderous act, the color of the sky turned grey. The oppressive silence filled the air, the park was empty. Almost empty...

There, under the old lime tree beside the fountain, was a man. He was staring into the dark water of the fountain, smoking... He stared and stared, gazing into the nothing. Suddenly he saw the red dress, the shiny black hair and deep eyes and above these a hand holding a pistol pointing it at him, and he saw the grey sky, the black leaves of the nicotiana and cold and blackness and nothing...

THE END

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