Below is an excerpt from my short story SHE. HER. YOU. It can be read in Slices of Flesh. http://www.darkmoonbooks.com/Slices_of_Flesh.htm
Driving home, I could not erase the image of you lying on the kitchen floor. Your long, black hair was fanned out and glistening like a peacock’s feathers. Each strand painted upon the floor with the precision of an artistic master. Your back was arched up, greatly pronouncing the suppleness of your breasts through the fallen open dress shirt which had yet to be fastened. Nestled in my favorite shiny, satin, crimson bra, they sat upon your chest flawless in their symmetry. The tiny, black pleated skirt I bought you for Christmas last year had flipped up, most likely while you writhed about on the floor. Peaking beneath its shadow was the soft curve of your buttocks. A hint of color could still be seen from underneath your eyelids where those beautiful, emerald eyes hid. It was a scene I imagined I would never forget. Shaking my head, I thought how odd that in the end as ugly as death was, you still were beautiful.
Again, my mind rewound the day to the moment I found you. Thick, pink foam had formed at your mouth, and spilled out to the black and white checkered linoleum where it pooled into a puddle the size of one of our large serving plate, you know, the one we used last Thanksgiving. Tears had streaked your normally thick eye makeup, which had been a sparkling shade of purple. Your left hand sat up next to your face, most likely, as I imagined, reaching to your mouth when realized you were choking to death.
Kevin James Breaux