An Evening's Entertainment

From sometime last year

8.13

R-E-D. There’s nothing he can do about it now. S-N-A-P. Finishes her off with a few well-aimed words of spite. C-R-Y. That’s all she does these days.

8.55

He decides to make up.

9.01

He is bored of waiting for her to say something. Her face is pale and soft at his touch. It takes kisses and a hand between her legs to dissolve the awkward silence. A finger to her lips, a finger inside her. Rolling hot wet red. Throbbing. Control. He dominates her fragile frame; unsatisfied more names spill out in uneven, rough thrusts of contempt. Thud against the wall goes the headboard of the unmade bed. Slumped she is crumpled beneath his anger. Unclenched he retreats to the wide screen TV at the foot of his kingdom.

9.16

We score. Still no retaliation from our victims.

9.49

We win. The screen zips to black; he replaces the controller and lies back alongside his conquest.