Choking and bleeding, Sanders looked a pitiful sight. She had choked him into submission, thrown him to the floor, and slapped his face from on top of him. With a smile.
Sanders swiped out as his vision failed. He brushed against a wiry, black curl. Unlike the other locks he’d felt, this one was unconditioned and plain — he gasped as the pain spiked and ended.
Rita, on the other hand, took pleasure in his final gesture. She thought it cute and warranted — she had won, had she not? A nagging inside her pushed from joy at a moment, but her ego held tight to contentedness. What guilty whisper sounded faded as soon. The moon from the open windowsill passed the obscuring pine branches and glinted in the blade. Rita cooed and giggled — the moon, her only friend.