Between stars and children

persephone

The sodden sun loosened their heat in exasperation, they had seen this happen in the spiral of life, the beating of hearts that have beaten for eternity, ever since the sun mothered the weaning earth. The spitting flames through the sky made the observation of the lovers in the church throughout the passages of time, nothing had changed, after all the sun didn't own a watch all it had was its wrath. The warm glow slithered through the stained glass windows, a woman on her knees weeping in blue, three men in joined hands, all vibrant in their scorn. The figures seemed to be eternal in their gaze, they must glance and judge, they must witness the perplexity of life not only sheltered ,but wild. They must recognize those who fear the outside and beg for protection then they see those who are feared, torn clothes, crushed glass, the glimmer of metal; their existence is for the purpose of summoning human weakness. The sun is friends with the stained glass.

"who is it?" the sun has never been one for foreplay

"he has beautiful eyes of brown..."Mary Madeline had always been one for romance

"for god sake, do I need to know his name or not?"

miss Madeline had left at once

underneath the raining colour stood hound and the girl with hair of fire. their hands linked, mimicking the way ivy creeps up a brick wall, their fingers creeping up each other's wrists, searching the hair coated fleshy mounds looking for a bone to circle, the way a hawk to pray. Hounds olive paradise sinking in bridges of dark hairs, hers like accident scriptures, preserved yet mystical.

"what sort of expectation have I been held under Mr. Hound?" her eyes flared at the softness of his name with the intention of womanly pride.

"certainly not the expectation of a corpse"

he reminded her of the framed picture, his mother used to hang so proudly above the fireplace when he was younger, of sandy mountains all stained red, sun dripping. A conversational piece it would of been called now, whenever relatives would come over they would all stand laughing in a crescent moon surrounding the picture. Home it was called. his mother smiling in something more than fondness, an emotion he had only ever seen reserved for Hound and that barren wasteland, but never his father. The hills were powerful and demanding, they knew their strength and never coiled away from it. His father naturally found distain a common leaning, he complained of its dusty state and how it was out of place, or more of how his mother was out of place. before his mother passed away hound had moved the picture to her room and hung it opposite the bed where she would spend her few present moments adoring the sweeping mountains, her mysticism evident as Hound would crouch at her bedside while she spoke softly, so lightly it was a hum, a distant calling of a foreign call he could never understand. That barren wasteland was the last piece of his mothers sanity and god wasn't it precious.

the mountain girl was curved, piling bibles, heaving them closer to her breast

"yes it was such a terrible, horrid, absolutely horrid ordeal that poor girl must of gone through" Hound had taken the books from her hands, still staring intently "Father did mention that the law may be knocking..."

"your father the vicar?" her approach altered into dimness with a quiet shyness to her once defiant red hair

"yes, vicar Paul is my father" she turned walking back to the door she came from expecting Hound to follow, but before leading him inwards she had halted, causing Hound to teeter inches away from her apprehensive face "he's in his study, I'm sure he would want to speak to whomever queried for his attention" a pause took over the two, it has seemed a lightening rod of a fish hook had pushed through their throats.

through the back door of the church was a flight of stairs, the flight was short, but Hound couldn't help glancing at the back of the girls thighs, moving in languid order.

"what's the vicars daughters name then?" she stopped at the top of the stairs so Hound on the step below still bore into the top of her scalp, heaving with the scent of her hair he felt like galaxies were climbing up the back of his throat.

stretching to meet his ear, he felt her hot breath bounding onto his skin "Persephone" closing his eyes he let his neck tip slightly back, he felt sensationalised, she could only have been described as the way lightening strikes without mercy, which would without doubt make him the thunder, wailing after her. Persephone turned, moving further through the darkness, with her arms spread wide against the walls like a bird of paradise.

the stairs led to what could with technicality been described as home, they encountered a circular hall with odd shoes scattering the skirting board, it reminded Hound of a bees nest, lighted yellow with the sweet humidly still lingering in the air. On either side was a kitchen with a circular table set for two and a living room neatly preserved for anything but living. Onwards two rooms faced each other, both shut and ahead at the end of the hallway a damp bathroom and a bedroom with a softly stained tennis shoe propping the door open. Persephone rapped lightly at the door which from within emitted a minor twanging of a typewriter. the noise halted immediately with the sudden alarm of company. Persephone kept her head hung low, she wrung her fingers until they spread a pinkly white, the way skin prickles with cold, but without the lacking presence of winter and her own emotions only.

"I damn well told you to not disturb me-oh"

a sallow face appeared from a slight gap in the aching door, it was of an aging man, parched blue, drenched with a cold sweat. His expression soon relived of its anger when his gaze caught sight of Hound, he yanked the door wide with a speed that emitted an alarming threat and a knobbly hand pioneered towards Hound, under the light its front appeared scarred, shiny, like a burn. Hound took it with apprehension still balancing the ageing bibles.

"I suppose you're from the station?" the mans wiry eyebrows upturned in curiosity.

"D.I. Hound I'm in charge of the Margaret Kalder case-"

"-and you want to question myself as I over see the church and its following" his voice emitted a strong arrogance, a confidence.

"and your daughter of course" Persephone's eyes glanced sideward's from their fixation on the plush carpet to Hounds frame "as you both live over the moors I must know the length of your knowledge of the murder on January the tenth"

"well detective I see you're eager, why not meet in my study" he jutted his chin out signalling to the stacked bibles "Persephone can take those" the way her name curled around his tongue eaved a heavy weight onto Hounds mind that reminded him of his own father in impish nostalgia.

taking the books Persephone brushed Hounds arm in a promise of return, before tailoring herself down into the empty church.