She gasped as he bucked underneath her.
His hands grasped at the air, wrists bleeding from too-tight handcuffs.
He jolted as she suddenly twisted the knife embedded in his windpipe.
As his struggling began to cease, her laughter grew.
Things don't always end as they begin.
"Darling, your hand is colder than usual. Are you alright?"
He rubbed her arm, trying to bring the warmth back.
She could only watch as her husband cradles her arm from across the room.
Her body lay in the back garden where he'd ambushed her.
Words are string and as they progress the tale unravels.
"Oh I love your new shoes!"
"They're real leather, my husband made them"
Shame there wasn't enough of him to make a matching bag.
At least she wouldn't have to worry about dinner for a week or so.
Everything we say is two-sided.
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