Ruth and Daniel are dressing for church.

The sun streams through their bedroom window catching suspended dust particles that shimmer like sequins.

It’s a special Sunday, a baptism.

Daniel, in a black three piece suit, struggles with a collar stud in the full length mirror on the closet door, sucks his teeth.

Ruth is in Lucian’s room, the room she keeps just for him.

A white sheepskin rug is thrown back revealing a loose floorboard prised up.

She wears a floral patterned dress the colour of cheap wallpaper.

There’s a flash and the air in the apartment implodes.

Then a smell of cordite.

Blue-grey smoke thickens the atmosphere.

Lucian is stretched out in the Sunday morning lobby with the top of his head gone and a halo of blood and brain mess oozing, expanding outward from what is left.

We’re all open to re-use, we all get re-cycled.

The important thing is you have to kill, or be killed by, the right person.

That’s what makes murder alright.

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