She says "Goodnight." A perfect dénouement for some, for most, for her maybe, but not for an old writer like me.

She says "Goodknight" to her friends and starts her pilgrimage. Here is an aperture. It is a short amble through a park. In the morning she is discovered. A police man says "Murder!"

After saying "Goofbye" to her friends, putting on her jacket, she starts her short journey home through the park, a park which she has known all of her short life. She walks along the well-trodden path that leads to her home smoking an imaginary cigarette. She stops, gasps, a blow to the head, falls to the ground, dead. In the morning she is found, two fingers splayed, her mouth showing a rictus, a hole in her head. A police man says to a peer "Murder, most horrid!"  The smiling, from ear to ear, old white male writer is now experiencing the thrill that comes through creation. He pauses and indulgences in the thrill.

She says "Goodbeam" to some of her friends, others she ignores, two of the boys she mocks, most cruelly, she possesses a cutthroat tongue, and starts the short journey home through the park. She has walked through this park many times, she knows the woods, she knows the lake, her father plays golf at the golf course, most likely cheats. She walks along the well-trodden path that leads to her home, not in a hurry, nonchalantly, humming a madeup melliferous aria while smoking an imaginary cigarette, and if she could she would pick flowers, but it is not the time to pick flowers, it is autumn.  She approaches the bench. A green moldy bench that the old writer with his dour face has employed throughout his life to spy upon the denizens of this small city without consequence.  She pauses, continues to smoke. Sitting on the bench is a handsome stranger who is smoking a real cigarette. He laughs. She laughs. A warm smile reassures. His teeth are even and white. He says softly "Hello." She replies "Hello." She stops by the bench, close to the handsome stranger. He smells nice. "Would you like a cigarette?" he says. "A real one." With herculean restraint the dour faced writer has forgone any attempt to impose a hint of abstract idiosyncrasies upon the smoking, perfectly chiselled stranger.  He feels defeated.

She throws on her coat. Slams the door shut. Walks through the park. Smokes an imaginary cigarette. Stops at the bench. Meets a perfect stranger. Gasps as he reveals a hammer.  A blow to the head. Falls to the ground. In the morning she is found with her skull smashed to pieces. A police man says to a news reporter "Murder! Most horrid! The Murderer must be found!" Here is a perfect dénouement thinks the old writer, after checking the time, the weather, the liquid in his cup, the contents of the fridge.

"Your penis is this big… a snail… and what are you laughing at… you have no penis at all" she says and then "See ya." She puts on her jacket and exits through the back door, leaving the back door open, the cat escapes, walks down the back-garden path, breaking stalks with her feet, and chopping corollas with a flat hand, climbs up the trellis ruining roses aplenty, and climbs over the back wall to freedom. She starts the short journey home through the park, but digresses, and throws rocks into the lake, maybe aiming at the croaking frogs, the idling ducks, the dating swans. Stooping to pick up a rock, she sees orange coals pulsate in the darkness and wonders if it's Gordon. She hopes it's Gordon. She stands, straightens her hair, licks her lips, strikes an imaginary match, lights an imaginary cigarette, tosses the imaginary match, and smokes the imaginary cigarette, rather nonchalantly, producing imaginary smokerings. It's not. Gordon. A sigh of disappoint. It's a handsome stranger smoking not a kosher cigarette. He says "Would you like a puff on my magic cigarette?" Of course, she clocks the fancy get-up underneath the flapping raincoat. Expensive and flash. Wonderful teeth. She replies "Yes give us a blast." He hits her over the head with his hammer and she falls to the ground and he knees over her and hits her repeatedly with the hammer and says the crudest things under the moon, not worth repeating. In the morning she is found, naked and beaten to a pulp, with her skull smashed to pieces. A very important police man says to the heaving crowd "Murder most definitely, most horrid, shocking! The Murderer must be found! he is a monster!"  

"I am having such a bad trip" she says.  No longer sitting but standing she continues "And what are you laughing at your cock cock hahaha is this big ahahaha a snail ahahah jesus ha ha ha it's a snail ha a real snail oh god I have to leave and what are you laughing at oh you have no cock oh at all oh I don't see it oh where has it gone oh you need to go to the hospital oh I have to leave oh I have to go home."  Jenny says watching her dress "June relax the trip has just started calm down it will sort itself out." June slipping into her shoes says "Hoofbye" and throws on her jacket which turns out to be Jenny's jacket and leaves her jacket behind.  Gordon jumping up and spilling his beer says "At least let me walk you home." June runs out of the front door, decides not to walk through the park, but instead catch the bus. She waits impatiently for the bus, biting her fingernails, wishing the night would end. The rain falls iridescent and coruscating. All the cars are limos. She could be, she knows she's not, in Hollywood, and she could be, she knows she is not, a Star. Giggles. Blows spit bubbles. Lights a cigarette. A real cigarette. Throws the cigarette into the rushing milky rain water on its way to the sewers while it creates madeup melliferous arias. She converses with herself. This solipsism is killing me, she thinks. These stichomythic exchanges with myself is killing me, she thinks. What gibberish what nonsense what foolishness, she thinks. Out of a fluctuating nebula, a contracting and expanding corona, appears a handsome stranger in a long black cape. A sexual moan, feral and free, is expelled by chiselled perfection before her. "Hello" he says as melliferous as church bells. "My lonely girl of the dark night I am here to escort you home." Under his spell she forgets the bus, the rain, the wind, the bad trip, even Gordon, submits to his power, and follows him into the park. "The moon was made for you" he whispers. "And the stars were made for you." The moon and the stars are fireworks that night as the hammer blows deconstruct her and as her clothing is removed and as bites upon her body draw blood.  In the morning she is found by a man taking a morning walk with a dog, naked and beaten to a pulp, with her skull smashed to pieces. Between two splayed fingers they see a half-smoked cigarette. Moribund. The chief of police says to the Nation "Murder most definitely, most horrid, shocking, a sexual predator, the Murderer must be found, he is a monster!  The Nation thinks it's Jenny but Jenny's mother says its "June" and sighs a sigh of relief.  

She closes the back door behind her, making sure the cat cannot escape, and in the back garden says "Yes I said Yes." Gordon is in the park, waiting. She hurries, climbs over the back-garden wall, too impatient to wait for Jenny to unlock the back-garden gate. She hurries through the park. Excited. Uneven breathing. Damp between the legs. Gordon seeing her running throws away the half-smoked cigarette and plops a mint into his mouth. She stops and says "Were you smoking?" He says grabbing her around the waist and mauling a breast "No fuckbunny hell no come on I know a good place where we can fuck and not get caught." She says after kissing and rubbing red her chin on Gordon's unshaven promontory "Not the golf course I always get sand in my twat." "No" he says while fingers probing, bifurcating her thighs "There's a great place in the woods." Thrilled, she slips her tongue into his mouth and spreads her thighs welcomingly. Smelling his wet warm fingers, he says while leading her through the park, the woods to the golf course "Fuckbunny your juices smell like ambrosia." "You fibber" she pants falling into the sand. He says while pulling down his pants and underpants "You get on top and I'll take the sand." The next day he tells the police "It was a golf ball hit her here the truth."

On the bus she notices a woman with crazy hair staring violently at her. Deep breathing. Red in the face. Not blinking. "Always raining" says the woman with the crazy hair.  Fearful, she quickly gets off the bus. The woman with the crazy hair gets off the bus, also. She starts to run through the park, knowing the park like the back of her hand, but she loses her way. She is followed by the woman with the crazy hair shouting and screaming at her. "Leave me alone" she screams back at the following woman with the crazy hair. They run through the park, through the woods. The woman with the crazy hair says "Wait wait you dropped your oh no." She falls through the ice. The woman with the crazy hair cannot see her through the thick ice. It is hopeless this wintry night. Death is inevitable. A police man pulling her from the lake says "It had to happen one day." She is blue as blue as…. "Here's her hat," says the woman with the crazy hair

The handsome stranger revealing himself to be the Devil while parting her ribcage and biting her nose clean off and grabbing her beating heart says "This is mine forever and ever HA! HA! HA!"
She says to the two little boys with snotty noses "Yes I am a Virgin and proud to be a Virgin and your naughty is this big a snail and what are you laughing at you have no naughty at all and I know you two are virgins too." Everybody roars with laughter. "Right" she says taking merited bows to the cacophony of clapping and cheering "I have to go home and finish my homework." Her journey is short and through the woods.  These dark woods have not frightened her since she was knee high.  No longer fearing ghouls and ogres she walks upon the serpentine path whistling a tune madeup. From behind a knotty tree appears a handsome, albeit a hirsute and intense, stranger. She stops, yawns. It is late. Beyond bedtime. "I am the hater of all woman" he proclaims "From the whore to the Angel and this here knife is my penis." She laughs not meaning to but she laughs a fragrant mocking laugh loud. He grabs her by the hair, pulls her head back, and stabs her repeatedly in the breasts and the vulva. The hirsute and intense stranger howls at the moon and with his talons after saying "I am the hater of all woman from the whore to the Angel and this here is my penis destroyed forever by woman with her mockery" attacks and leaves her scattered all over the vast park.

The hirsute and intense stranger grabs her from behind and pushes her over the bench and penetrates her from behind and on climax that rush of ecstasy smashes her head in with his hammer. 

A pack of dogs chase her through the park, into the woods. The dogs nip and bite at her ankles until she is unable to run anymore. In the morning the pieces are collected and arranged. Her mother says "Yes, Oh God, yes, it's her her her ring."

She says goodbye to her friends and starts the short journey home through the park. Along one of the well-lit four paths she walks creating numerous dénouements. The wall of houses protects her from the wind and rain. The park is a generified square protected by an iron fence and four gates. Within the square there are four manicured lawns, and a wood made up of three trees, and the lake is a slither of water home to croaking frogs and exotic flowers. The one bench she passes is unoccupied. Here she sees home, the windows producing light, light that is dulled by married curtains, and the door is ajar waiting for her. Life is so full of mundane dénouements, she thinks as she yawns.