POST MORTEM

by Tom Dowd

They sit for a few minutes in uneasy silence. Around them the lives of those who'd chosen to visit the park this day unfold, all but oblivious to the two on the bench. Any other reaction would be a shock to both as neither appears to the unschooled as they actually are. Today they appear as two of the homeless, an ork and a dwarf, which is almost as far from the truth as one can get and still retain a degree of sanity.

The ork, aged and dark skinned, finally turns his head slightly and regards the other through what seems to be the misty gray of partial cataracts. The dwarf, light skinned and long unshaven, does not move from staring at the stagnant pond they face.

"So," the ork finally says, his tone low and careful, "did you kill him?"

The dwarf shifts his gaze to meet the other's. He shakes his head. "No. Did you?"

"No." The dark ork sighs.

The other nods. "I could not convince myself one way or the other as to your guilt."

"Me either."

The dwarf raises a bushy eyebrow. "As usual, I do not follow your drift."

The other nods again. "Exactly so." he replies. "I meant that there were times where I had to consciously think about whether or not I had killed him myself or arranged to have it done. I hadn't, but could have, and perhaps should have, hence my confusion."

"Many believe you had a hand in it."

"Of course they do. Let them." The ork says. "It is a dark and terrible thing I have done." he adds, chuckling.

"Then who?"

There is a long silence between them.

"Blood and tears," the ork says finally, "the list is disquietingly short."

The other nods. "The years slip behind us like a soft breeze, carrying away friend and foe alike, leaving us only the rumor of their passing."

The ork snorts, looks away and stares at the pond. "You're in a better place to know; anyone else show up?"