There's
           beauty
                      in
                           *silence.

Lay me on the pile of bodies
then incinerate me like the rest.

Mommy, I hurt.

Honey, I don't see any bruises...

It's my heart,** Mommy.

I clench the satin tablecloth in my hand.
A slow drone of smooth jazz echoes in the distance.
The fluttering wisps of cigarette smoke waft to the ceiling as my husband steps into the parlour in his tar black overcoat.
"What took you so long?" I ask concernedly.
He just nodded, gave me a lazy grin
and ordered us two gins.