Rain was pouring down by the time we got to the church yard. Nobody noticed me. Nobody knew me. I was invisible but that's what I liked. The graveyard was a familiar sight. Many times I had been here and many times I had taken people from here to a nicer place.
One woman beside me was on the floor, sobbing hysterically. The rain washed away her tears but her soul was scarred, she has been stabbed but it would never fully heal. It would mark her forever. Death does that. Leaves scars wherever it goes. I offered her a hankie and she took it without a glance in my direction. Her thanks were mumbled by the rain.
YOU ARE READING
The man at the back
القصة القصيرةA short story with a twist ending. Can you guess who the man in black is before the end?
