• She smiled in the moonlight, her hair was down and the moon shone on it letting it look almost black in contrast with her pail face. He was dead, head splayed back and lax over the back of the canvas chair. No neck support… knife through his gut. She saw the blood seeping out of his body, onto the lawn chair and then dripping down to the concrete.

    Drip, drip, drip… drip.

    There was an uneven pattern to the dripping, the blood looked black except when she moved to let the moonlight catch the drops, then they were like rubies, but this was more precious then rubies. This was the juice of life, without it humans, or animals could not live. It was so precious that it was sold, donated, and traded (between hospitals). She looked down at him one last time.

    Fool she thought, the turning on her heal, leaving a circular heal mark from the rubber of her high platform boots soles. The only trace anyone would find of her, they may find the knife, but she was not worried of that, she had not prints, she had no DNA, and she was undocumented.