Leaning against a tree looking up through a lattice of leaves at the over head sun ... a deep breath of the autumnal air, the fresh scents undermined by the sweet stench of decay ... Summer had turned at last to autumn ... Their relationship had matched the seasons - the frost of winter, followed by a gentle thawing through spring, then the heat of summer and now the descent yet again into winter.

He was in no hurry; his earlier, apparently, purposeful strides had disintegrated into an aimless ramble once he knew he had disappeared from her sight. He had heard the sticks break under her feet as she had turned and headed off in the opposite direction. The snapping of twigs echoing eerily in the woods - mirroring the breaking of the strands that held him together inside ...Hope, faith, trust - all broken like dead wood.

The light of the sun determined the seasons. The revolution of the Earth in its orbit about its source of warmth, its life... so too had the light in his life drawn closer and then drifted away from him, taking with her his raison d'être.

Whether she said what she said to make him go without question or because she meant it did not matter - the fact was that she had spoken those words. Her actions had never been predictable despite what he may once have said to her ...and this time she had indeed surpassed herself. He blamed himself of course; he believed what he wanted to be true. For so long he had convinced himself of her feelings for him. He had dropped his shields and given up his defences. She had got to him - he had betrayed so much for her, he had allowed her to get through to where no amount of torture had ever reached. The most horrific interrogation techniques had made barely a scratch compared with the gaping wounds she had left.

The wind was picking up now - as he had passed from the low growing scrub into denser woodland he had been sheltered from the elements to some extent ... but now the wind was making the leaves in the treetops rustle anxiously ...The sky had darkened now - the sun blotted out by a bank of fast moving clouds ... dark grey masses of water vapour, threatening a deluge ... He didn't care.

He wondered what was keeping them - the cancellation squad. Pushing up the sleeve of his jacket to tell the time, he noted that he had left Nikita more than an hour ago - he had heard nothing. He hadn't expected to hear them come to carry out his execution. He had been waiting for them. He had only walked as far as he had to get away from her - to leave her behind. But that was impossible - she was imprinted on his soul, her footprints stamped on his heart. He could leave the shell behind but what it contained had marked him for life. The Nikita that he had fallen in love with had died - he sighed softly wondering if she had ever existed.

The sky grew darker still - the wind gathering strength in the branches above him ... heavy drops of water plummeted towards him, splattering on impact with his jacket. It was not waterproof - he realised as the damp patches expanded, joining together to penetrate the fabric, which became sodden as the rain fell faster, heavier ... leaves came down with the rain now ... lashing against his face - stinging the cut beneath his eye.

The storm was growing, the wind becoming wilder ... as if his emotions had reached out and dragged the heavens down into his despair. If the beat of a butterfly's wing can engender a hurricane, what force could be unleashed by the turmoil within him now?

The sun had gone - the heavens opened and the skies were torn asunder.

The cold rain soaked through the outer layers, its insidious drenching to the skin allowing the last traces of warmth to be bled out to the chill air. Just as she had opened him up and left him to die.

A flash of incandescence lit up the trees around where he sat, his knees drawn up into his chest - a crack of thunder whipped through the air - or was the former a searchlight and the latter a gunshot?

Who could tell? - He had stopped feeling.

18th September 2000

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