He feels the ridges on her trachea with his hands, and squeezes. She resists fiercely at first, beating wrought iron arms with willowy fists. Her eyes are bulging, mouth open and working desperately for air. Her skin slowly turns blue, and her struggles cease completely as she pleads with her eyes, looking up at him. He looks down at her and says, “No,” his voice a dirty rasp. Her body convulses and goes limp, her eyes glassy and unseeing. He releases the body and stands, wipes his hands on his shirt. His companion asks, “Why?”

“I wanted to watch something beautiful as it died. To see it pass, and become ugly.”

“And?”

“It was…wonderful.”

He walks out of the room and sees the rising sun.