Be sure to read the poem that sparked this story: Emily Dickinson's "Because I Could Not Stop for Death"
"Hello Margary." If the woman was startled by the sudden raspy voice, she gave no outward appearance of it.
"Hello," she replied, still reading the paper held in her hands. She moved to write something down. "I expected you later."
A grunt was the only reply that she received. The room was silent for a few minutes with the exception of Margary's pen scribbling on the paper. The pen stopped and she carefully put the papers into a folder. Finally she looked to the man in the doorway.
"So you've come to do your job then, eh? No chance in this being just a visit?" A small smirk was the only thing that marred Margary's blank face; it did not touch her eyes.
"No."
"Thought not," she said grimly. "I'm a very busy woman, you know."
"I know." The person said patiently. Margary squinted at the form hidden in the shadows of the doorway. The man wore an all black cloak with a cowl that was pulled up to hide everything but thin, pale lips.
"Shall we take a ride in my carriage?" He asked.
"Can I use the powder room first? I want to look my best." A small smile formed on those pale lips.
"Of course," he said patiently.
"We must hurry. I have a lot to do."
When Margary came back the cloaked figure gesture to the door. She nodded absently.
"Yes, let's get this over with then. I'm a very busy woman, you know."
"I know." The cloaked figure said as they stepped out the door. "That's why I stopped for you."
Stephanie Kidwell is currently attending Eastern Michigan University and majoring in photography. In her spare time she likes to write short stories and poetry, read fantasy books, and have late night Denny's time with the girls.
© Stephanie Kidwell
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