Her face was darker today reflecting the squall inside.
Pushed to her boundaries.
Enough was enough.
Standing in the kitchen,
Apron worn and stained,
A sloppy metaphor for her soul.
She fantasized he was dinner
With every slash of the blade.
She had read a mystery like this once;
Woman serves murder weapon to guests...
A leg of lamb, she recalled.
Sometimes reality isn't as tidy as fiction.
At least this wouldn't be.
A smile slid across her face as she headed for the door.
Ice blue eyes
And lips of perfection
She was a thing of beauty.
When Billy walked in
He sang like a jukebox and she was his muse
Until came - the Goddess of Destruction
With her swing of flowers,
Father behind glass,
Reflections or a red hue.
The truth came in whispers...
How true love always evaded her
And the Phantom Lady was forever lost.
Audrie is a writer and editor living in Illinois. She is a fan of all things horror and pop culture.