The Sins That Whispered

         Although the man at the stop was alone, his ears heard many whispers. As the rain poured down on the little shelter, over the pounding droplets was a voice a man such as he could not ignore.

         It was a woman. She stood tall, with tousled hair, thrown over her left shoulder. Ringlets of black curls framed her heart shaped face. But it was her eyes — narrow, sienna brown, and a lazy, alluring gaze — that captured him and paused his foggy breath. A cigarette was perched in between her lips, and she blew smoke out through her red lipstick. The enchantress stood akimbo, hands resting on her slender waist.

         “There's a distinct scent emanating from you,” the beauty said in her sultry tones.

         “A smell?” he queried.

          She nodded solemnly. “Your blood is the same as a sinner. You have been a bad man.”

          The silence around them was deafening. Rain continued to pour, regardless of the otherwise deadly silent street. After a moment, the man cleared his throat.

         “Are you one of those crazy fortune tellers? Should I show you my palm?” he chuckled.

         Her lips thinned out. Apparently she didn't find the joke amusing.

         “Your eyes. They tell me you have been dead for quite a while, sir.”

         The man froze, his blood stuck in his veins. One look into her pretty spheres and it was as if she see could all of his soul — the good, the evil, and the strange. If he could've spoke, even then, words would fail him. There were none. From her blazing eyes he saw many things. Kindness and sympathy was not within, however,

         “How . . . How could you know this?

         Her lips perked into a half grin. The woman approached him steadily, so close he could smell the cigarette on her breathe and sweet vanilla off her clothes. “I know many things, sir. I can see you are dying. The wind howls out a tale of despair. Your tale.”

         “Who are you?” His voice shook.

         She stomped on her cigarette with her pointed heels. He watched in terror as she slowly reduced it to dust. His heart twinged in pain.

          “I am a piece of you, sir. I am the other woman you bed while your wife is not home. I am the horrible thoughts you think of your children. I am the gambling, the cheating, the lies, the façades, and the Truth.”

         “Did my wife hire you? You can't possibly know any of that!”

         “How could I not?” she snarled.

         “Because I am the only one who knows!”

    The once beautiful woman now held an expression twisted and curled in disgust and anger. The wind and rain seemed to seethe. Above the bus stop shelter, droplets and hail beat furiously on the plastic. The man's heart sped up, like a drum finale. A final beat.

    “Your soul is tainted by your humanity, sir! I am your final stop. The only place you are going, is hell, sir. It is the only place a creature like you belongs.”

    His face paled.

    “No! This can’t be! I’m not ready to die!” he cried out.

    “The hail paints a portrait, sir. It shows me all the wrong you’ve caused in the world. You will die deaf, blind, and alone . . .”

    A final gust of wind shattered the plastic covering. The man shrieked as he was thrown by the wind, and tumbled. His numbed fingers bled as he forced himself to crawl over the debris. A sob threatened to spill. From there, the mysterious woman appeared before him, listening to his pleas. She closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of earth and rain.

    “Deaf,” she murmured. Her heels dug into his ears.

    “Blind.” Then his eyes.

    “And alone.”

    As if by magic, the storm ceased to be. Birds began to sing and chirp as they flew over the wreckage that was the bus shelter. No cars passed the road the man lay dead by. Although his body had given up, his tormented spirit still screamed. He was paying for his sins.

    “You have brought this upon yourself,” the woman Truth said. “I am only the deliverer.”

•  •  •

This was practice for figurative language. I had a lot of different things in here. See if you can detect any lol.

F i g u r a t i v e  L a n g u a g e

Motif — (2)

Simile

Personification

Theme — (2)

Symbolism

Foreshadowing

Imagery