There are 247 types of cigarette ash and he knew them all. So when I pointed to the considerable pile with joyful exclamations, knowing he would instantly unravel the mystery before us using this one vital clue, I was then understandably quite disappointed when he waved me off, muttering, as was his habit, about worthless specks of dust and broken hearts of no consequence to the matter at hand. I chose, for my own part, to investigate the charred remains on my own, regardless. The size, roughly the size of a woman’s fist, seemed rather large for a cigarette. Perhaps our mystery person stood here contemplating the deed for quite some minutes before moving on. The color was an interesting shade of deep red, which I also found intriguing. Perhaps it wasn’t from cigarettes afterall. “Sherlock….?” I interrupted his pacing and quiet rambling. “Yes, Watson, what is it, speak up my good friend.” “Well it’s about the ash just here, you see…” “oh? And by what you’ve observed, what would you deduce?” “I haven’t the foggiest. I’m quite stumped really.” “Oh-ho-ho! Watson, my good fellow, have you nothing to say about it at all??….. no? Fine. I shall lay it all out before you. It is, quite plainly, the ashy remains of a woman’s heart.” Sputtering I cried out, “a… a heart?! Are you quite certain? How…?” “Watson! Watson! Use your powers of observation and deductive reasoning! What am I always reminding you?? That whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth! This woman, whoever she may be, lost her heart and it was carefully removed from her body and lay here burning, with no one to care enough to pick it up and feed her fire. Quite simply, she left it there for Him. And He, whoever He may be, hadn’t the desire to carry it away with him. Love! Bah!!”
tara caribou | ©️2018
Sorry. Just a dumb ramble I pecked out at 4am because I was too busy crying to be able to just fucking sleep. My apologies to Sir A.C. Doyle.