Lavender

• Jitarah Church, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2014

I hold the horse’s reins as she mounts the large beautiful creature. Her rich black hair falls in waves around her small face. She settles into the saddle and signals for me to hand her the reins. Her eyes are a rich cobalt blue reminding me of a blue sort of flame that fills her body each day keeping her fuelled for adventure and wonder. Her lips are the colour of pink roses like the ones you find outside the mansions of dukes and duchesses. Handing her the reins with one hand I reach behind me and pull a small silver blade from my belt tucked under my shirt. I wrap my now free hand around her shoulders to hug her before she sets off on her way, pulling her closer to me. Her hair smells like lavender soap, the one my mother makes for a living. Bringing the dagger around I place it between me and her. The blade facing away from me. “I’m so sorry.” I whisper into her, but before she could get a sound out I drive the blade into her chest. She lets go of me, her arms and legs going limp and falls to the ground. Blood spreads across her shirt front quickly but all I do is turn and walk away from the stables forcing myself to keep back tears.