The long, auburn strands lifted in the cool evening breeze that whispered over the abandoned lot. For an instant she seemed alive as the gentle breeze fingered her clothing; playing hide and seek in the folds of her satin blouse, mimicking the undulation of breathing. Her clothes were dated for someone that young, as if they belonged to a different, moralistic era. The dark blue cotton skirt fell well below the knees; the chunky crucifix glittered in the scant light of a nearby street lamp. Her nails were freshly manicured, cut short and painted a pearlescent pink. She seemed immaculate except for the bruising around her ankles and wrists, the silent symbols of restriction, captivity and brutality. Deep puncture wounds bared testimony of the cruel, barbed wire. A gentle sprinkling of rust flakes decorated the walls of each wound. Movement would have been excruciating; hell on earth.
Make-up had been applied to her serene face; she resembled a cheap hooker. Her lips were red sirens, her eyelids painted peacock blue with layers of thick mascara around empty eye sockets. The skin around the gaping holes was a vivid, traumatic purple. Dried blood clung like despondent bats to her upper eyelids. He had taken her eyes, the windows to the soul; the entrances of light. She stared unseeingly at the quarter moon, the light unable to penetrate those dark depths. She looked into eternity and saw nothing. Once the brain has died the impulses from the visual world have no means of translation and they become lost symbols of a parallel world; a world in which she once laughed and knew sorrow.
The breeze allowed her to breathe for a few more seconds before dying down. In the distance a dog barked forlornly, sensing the wraith like soul that stood over the body, tethered by the traumatic death. It would remain earthbound until the perpetrator was found and brought to justice; only then would it go towards the light. The dog howled, giving voice to the grief and solitude that hung over the area like a shroud.