So we were by the lake, a gentle saunter in the gathering dusk. I was, as usual, playing his verbal foil and he, well, he was his usual gruff, taciturn, dismissive self. 'The moonlight's glimmer,' he said. 'No, shimmer,' I said. 'Rubbish,' he said. So I snapped. I drowned him.


  In the damp, morning air, her breath puffed like floss in the dawn. She blessed her forethought luring him to the rendezvous in the boathouse. There was nothing to carry, she just rolled him in to the boat, bound and weighted and set off. Foggy morning, she thought, clear head.


The sun was a ball of melting butter on the crimson horizon. It took her breath away. The air clear and crisp, the sky above her receding into encroaching darkness. About her feet was sticky with the congealing blood of her lover. A thought occurs, has she packed a toothbrush?

Sweet Anticipation

  She liked to make careful preparations, precise and aimed solely at the comfort of the customer. For example, she had special napkins made so she didn't soil the clothes when she was cutting the throats of her victims. T'was the least she could do for them. She got the anticipation.