The rehearsal is over; Rob walks towards the river, beneath the twinkling lights of the city facing the long, cold walk home.
He sees a figure ahead, memories, dreams and reality converging onto a single point – fixed upon the person standing before him.
He stands, arms outstretched, his hands drip with blood.
“I have come to take you home, my son.”
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan