The Kill

The pearls which bedecked her beautiful neck, lay scattered where her black dress lay in tatters. Her breast bled not of wounds but by the knife that was drawn into her, not to kill -but to inflict reality upon her.

The blood had flown throughout the night making the already dark night a shade darker. The punjent juices which once warmed her body now writhed on floor and ran cold.

Life - so it seems, had lost it power to the dread- to the death; so inevitable that it came her way which now remained her only hope her only light.

Her killers stood over her and cried with incessant laughter. The laughter tried to cover the magnanimous guilt which reflected from thier gloomy faces pasted with sticky laughter.

The days went by, and the body still lay cold and naked amidst the wild and gay cries of the MAN, WOMAN & CHILD.