(the following first published online at Six Sentences)
Killing People is an Art, he Said
Jenny, drunk, slid to her knees and clutched and groped at his thighs, her chin raised so that she could look up into his face. “You’re embarrassing me,” he said, and he apologized to the other couple still sitting at the table with half-formed game clay molded around their fingers. “Aw, c’mon,” Jenny said, her hand sliding toward his zipper. “This is why you love me, ’cause I’m crazy, remember?” She curled herself around his legs and whispered, Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, I know you’re leaving me. He used her shoulder to shove her away, onto her back, where she flailed like a toppled beetle.