My Cardboard Balcony

Log Cabin Romance by Belinda Roddie When she draped the flannel across my shoulders, I felt my conscience grow weak, floundering at the tips of my index fingers where normally I'd be charged with electricity. I asked her, "When can we go hunting again?" and she replied, "Hush, love. I need to clean the glock, and once it's confident, we'll load it so we can eat venison on our honeymoon."

The letter was sealed and stamped, and the old-fashioned wax emblem felt rather eerie and perturbing to Mara as she reached for a knife. The paper whistled slightly as it was cut, as if she were slitting a man's throat and any last ounce of air he had left came gurgling out in a high-pitched whisper of warning. The paper containing the message was fragile, enough to crumble into ash in Mara's hand. But the words themselves were as stark and hot and unfriendly as steel.