Of the Essence

The ink-blue sky is curtained with gray clouds, and snow sprinkles down ever so gently. It's such a bitter cold I feel, though not from the weather.

I leaned over the body, ignoring the chilled whispers of policemen around me. I brushed the golden locks from the little girl's face. On her neck, I found the familiar writing that would lead to the killer's whereabouts:

It makes its journey without knowing

Where the beginning ends or the end begins,

Whether to start stopping or to stop starting.

I sat deep in thought trying to figure this one out, when a sudden chiming broke into my thoughts. I looked into the distance, where Big Ben struck midnight. My eyes narrowed as I stared at the mighty clock. It makes its journey without knowing…

I stood up abruptly and turned to the police. “Let’s go.”

-Rasheda