Monsieur Solitaire

It had been days. The women outside his window had been talking about it all day. One of the older boys had found her searching for his dogs in the mountain. No one griefed for her as the carefree people of Paris lived on. They burried her in a hole in the outer of the graveyard, like his father had told him when he was little. That’s what they do to bad people, he had explained with a deep voice, people without work or goal, those kind of people that cause nothing but trouble among the others, lonesome people. A cross of sticks was all she got. It had been days since he had visited the mountain but tonight was the night. He had waited, and waited, but tonight was the night. Mounsieur Solitaire walked over the cobblestones again, as they tricked his feet. They went by the graveyard, but not to stop. A deep breath kept them moving towards the mountain again. The wind was still tonight, lured beyond the rooftops, watched him step up on the rocks once more, once again. It pushed him unobtrusivly, it sighed subdued and stared at him, glared at him and moved upwards, as he did. He walked past the rock which he had squatted behind days back. He ran to reach a place where the rocks were softer, the wind milder and the light stronger to sink into a trance, a drug that sucked him down into a hole of eternity. The wind had followed him to whisper in his ear, it sang the most beautiful tune he had ever heard. It sang for him, and the closer it came the more it enchanted him. It had monsieur Solitaire under its spell. Something very familiar snuck along the stony ground.

All alone, monsieur Solitaire?
All alone for the night
I am here now, by your side
I wish to never again be lonely
Alone for always
Alone under this moon we will be in phase
Alone day after day
This full moon represents
A new beginning for us two
We can be alone together
Under this stone moon
At the Mountain of Loneliness
At the Mountain of Loneliness

The gentle stroke of two cats against his leg and the touch of paws on his shoes and a soft purring sound surrounded him. He was never suprised when it retured, the sound of a woman singing, it could be the wind in the trees or the people from their houses. Monsieur Solitaire always knew he would still hear her sing the lonesome tunes over and over again, but even when they faded she was still with him, forever. Even when they were gone she would still put his arms around him and hold him through the night.