"Solution" by Molly Brown

Her finger trembles against the gun.
She taps the barrel, the sound echoing through the silent room like a typewriter.
Across the bed, her lover’s own fingers
Entangle into the curtains.
In the boudoir’s reflection, their eyes meet,
His green, hers blue.
His breath shakes like a dying rabbit.
His lips form words,
Words she had already been murmuring:
“This won’t work.”
“This could have worked,” She says.
He pries the curtains open,
As if they were steel instead of cloth,
And he presses his hand to the pane.