Red ember falls from the tip of her cigarette.
She blows an “O” through the moonlight
And roughly exhales the rest.
Verdant eyes piercing gaze
She’s impatient.
waiting.
For far too long, she hums to herself.
She’s upset. She looks around.
There he is. Found him, she thinks.
He looks normal, light brown eyes, brown hair.
He’ll do. He’ll do fine.
He’ll suffice.
Okay. Let’s go inside. She lets her cigarette fall to her feet.
She crushes it.
The man is looking at her.
Sneaky eyes, she knows what he’s thinking.
But She likes it. She knows where it’s going.
Dinnes goes well, they’re eating. Both of them.
She likes the dish, how rare.
She finishes it, even rarer.
Signs of compatibility within grasp.
The man is excited.
Talking about his shitty job thinking she’s impressed.
She doesn’t care, she knows what she came for.
A woman's love is her flame. Passionately burning life for the sense of greater purpose.
She brought him home. Shh.
Tied him to his chair. Be still.
He’s smiling, laughing. Think he’s truly won.
She pours gasoline all over him.
And sets him ablaze.
Now she’s laughing, he’s truly lost!
The job is finished. And her flame is satisfied.
And red embers fall from his fingertips.
By Tommy Turner