She opened the door. They were killing
people there.
Retreating to her room, she sat for a while
on her bed.
She put on a new dress. It made her feel
a little less lonely.
Outside, in the park, the flowers
were in full bloom. But no one was waiting for
her. Not any longer.
Later, she sat at the dinner table and
her parents, though not stonily silent, could not help
noticing her strange manners.
She left when the moon came floating
through the night. Memories came back
to her. I'll never take off this dress, she
thought.
I never, she repeated.
Would dawn come?
A great many thinkers were debating
the matter. They had no conclusive
evidence to offer.
There's a statue where she once stood, on
the brink of the night.
Only a few people can see it glowing
in the moonlight. Only a few and only
for a short while. They are all being killed
next door.

Written in August 2002, slightly reworked in June 2016