She impales a sapphire encrusted silver loop through her earlobe, and then glides red lipstick across puffy lips. Black stockings constrict a pair of pale legs while she perches on stilettos.
He’s already passed out. Half empty bottle on the nightstand…same infomercial that’s been on for the past hour…drool spills onto his shoulder, absorbing into the fabric of his half-buttoned shirt. She wiggles the remote from his hand and turns up the volume on the television.
“…Forever Edge is the sharpest knife on the planet! Pineapples…tin cans…cardboard…nothing gets between you and Forever Edge! $35.99…”
Her fingers glide across a pillow’s silky body while she straddles across his lap. She plugs his snoring mouth with the pillow.
He jolts upward while she wraps the pillow and compresses the back of his cranium against the bed board. His feet flail and hit the remote, changing the channel.
“…But…but how can you do this to me! I thought you loved me! I thought we were in love! Kyle…why…WHY!…” The television says.
Screams and moans absorb into the pillow feathers—he squirms while she grinds against the lap of death. His fingers retract into his palms as if he’s holding on to the last second of his life.
She rests her face on the pillow; the silence sings her a goodnight lullaby.