Twenty Years Later

by Charlie Donlea

The victim was hanging naked from a second-story balcony, his feet suspended at eye level, and the white rope around his neck angling his head like a broken-stemmed lollipop.

There were a thousand things Walt wanted to say. A thousand things he had rehearsed. Things he had thought about every day during the year that had passed since he had last seen her. That he loved her as much now as he did three years ago. That he missed her in a way he had never missed another person. That if the universe were a less cruel place, they’d have met each other earlier in life. That he hadn’t left because his love for her had faded, but because it was easier to be miserable living on an island in the Caribbean than in the same city as the woman he loved but couldn’t be with.