The Water Bearer

Jamming his cigarette back into his mouth, he inhaled. The ember flared, lit his craggy face. “You’re too smart to believe that’s the real reason, though. Well, you’re right. I have another reason, a real reason, but that’s another story.”

He stubbed the fading butt onto his steps, dropped it into a old coffee can at his feet. I could hear his joints creak as he rose, held out his hand.

“Good night,” he said, and I shook it. He gave the pond one last, disgusted glance, turned to go inside.

Sarah still slept on the couch, the moon shimmering on her naked skin. I closed the door quietly.

As I did, I saw the moonlight sparkling on the water of the pond.

And for a moment, brief and shivery, it was bone-white beautiful.

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