A Murder in Morocco

Oh. God. How the red river rises to meet the dirt streets. Frothing at the mouth, his eyes turn in the street lamps. Black. White. Nether here nor there.
She rises from the carcass, bewitched by the moonlight. Sultry night air evokes her spirit into the wind.
Foot steps. Tarps flap in the breeze. Her robes shield her face. His face. Protected from Death as they yet embrace it.
He is thrust headlong into its arms and she races into his veins for a taste.
Once. Twice. They separate.
The ants clear the alley of evidence. Vultures thief his innocence. He is twisted in pleasure, in agony.
She is hiding in the shadows.
Oh. How that red river flows down her throat.


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