The Man
A drabble
Part 5 of Aspects
By The Nut
2 Nov 2003

Sweat lingers.

Blood stains.

But between one action and the next, life dies.

Sweat dries.

Stains fade.

But nothing can rekindle a life that has been taken.

Nothing.

The sun beat down popping sweat beads from his skin, sending it running down his back in small rivulets.

He worked mechanically. Cleaning, folding, packing the tools of his job.

The bloodstains were persistent, drying in the sun before he could wash them off. Fabric becoming stiff, metal dulled.

The brown patches spoke of his actions, spoke of his shame.

Spoke of him.

He scrubbed furiously, but they wouldn’t come clean.

**********
FIN.