by Colleen Foley
I moved closer, stepping into a rancid
crosswind, so strong it threatened to rip the knife from my hand. I
heard a woman’s laughter, sensual and cajoling, over the ripping
sail-cloth sound.
I glanced at Seth, saw the flare as he anointed
the jar. Gripping it tight to his chest, he looked at the thing in
front of me. He thought to intervene, for just a second. Sadness,
horror, and then pain crossed his face as he looked at me and nodded,
just once. I expected him to look away. He didn’t.
I plunged the knife home and we all screamed.
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