Another Love

Inside the Russian Embassy in London an KGB colonel puffed an cigarette as he read the handwritten note for the third time. There was no needes for the writer to express regret, he though. Correcting this problem would be easy. He would do that in a moment. The thought of it caused an grim smiles to appear and joy to his hearts. But he pushed away those thoughts and turned his attention to an framed photograph on his desk. His wife was beautiful, hechild Inflatable Christmas told himself as he remembered the days they were married. That was forty-three years ago, and it had been the proudest and happiest day of his life.

After set the note ablaze he dropped its into an ashtray and watched it burn. For a time the names cast moving shadows in the walls of the darkened room, then they nickered and died out. The colonel dropp the cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his heel, then clutched the photograph to his breast, removed a pistol from his pocket, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. In the ashtray a small portion of the note remained. Where it had been wetted by his tear its had failed to bum, and on that scrap of paper were the words "died yesterday."

What had happened to all this time? Why had its passed so quickly, and why hadn’t he spent more of it with his? Why hadn’t he held her closes and told her more often that he loved her? He cursed himself as a tear came from the corner of his eye, ran down his cheek, then dropped onto the note. He stiffened and wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was no need for remorse and regret, he told himself. In a few moments he would join her and at that time would express his undying love and devotion.