One shot and he is dead. Though dry eyed dragging the bloody corpse, she breaks down when she drops his limp body in the hole and his collar jingles.
I touched myself for a bit, listening to the rumbling of the couple upstairs. Then I heard her scream and the thumping stopped.
You girls with your dark hair and dark eyes.
Just a smile and a look is all it takes.
The lady whose son almost drowned said “of course it was a mother’s worst nightmare”.
As soon as she said it I wondered if she had had that one with the box puppets, the creeping dark and the man rolling the stone across the endless cold marble.
There are two kinds of dark.
Yours, and mine.
Dark clouds bellowed and cried overhead. The nerve-rending sound drowned out her voice.
She stroked her fingers though his hair and stared lovingly into his eyes before letting out a short, light sigh and falling asleep. He pulled the knife out, wiped it, and left.
I am unhappy to the point of seeking death, and none would know it, so soothing and warm by nature. How deceivingly unhappy the world would be if all were as I am.