Shining Crimson

nearby diners. No one was looking. She spilled some into Bond’s martini. A bit of the poison dripped onto his napkin. She glanced in his direction and saw he was close to their table. She ruffled his napkin to hide the wet spot. After drinking down her Old Fashioned, Lizbeth focused on her meal and pretended she didn’t see him approach.

James Bond eyed his napkin before sitting, but didn’t touch it. “My apologies for the delay. I was unexpectedly tied up. Well, now. The evening is ours.”

Lizbeth, who had fallen into a fixed stare and a daze, jumped.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“My mind was elsewhere, I’m afraid.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Bond asked.

Lizbeth’s eyes glazed. Her breath became shallow. “I was thinking … thinking about death. The past … the past dies, doesn’t it? But tomorrow, tomorrow never dies.”

He stared at her. “Are you well? You seem somewhat foggy.”

“Not foggy at all. I am clear on so many things now.”

“Curious. And those things are?”

Lizbeth gripped her knife. The feel of the cold steel in her hand, its solid heft, brought her comfort. “That sometimes, when things are very bad, we do have a license to kill, kill what is wrong, kill what is unhappy so that we can move forward and make the most of our life.” She looked around the dining room and then at Bond sitting across from her. Her grip on the knife loosened. “This moment is the next step in my new life. When things are going well, certainly, there is no time to die.”

He raised his martini. “No time to die. Such profound revelation calls for a toast.”

Exactly, Lizbeth thought.

Preparing to take a bite of his grouse, Bond stopped and pushed his napkin to the side with his elbow. “I seem to have made a bit of a mess of this one.” Just as he lifted his glass to his lips, he said, “Perhaps a fresh drink is in order. Yours is near empty, and mine has been sitting.” He called the waiter for fresh drinks and a fresh napkin. “Now, I believe we were saying there is no time to die. I couldn’t agree more.”

Fiction Colin Walker

Livermore, California, USA

He hit the floor hard. The pain in his abdomen was so excruciating he could barely hear his wife shriek. Her hair was disheveled, clothing torn, makeup running through hot tears.

Her 10-year-old daughter dropped the knife soaked in her step-father's blood. "That's the last time you ever do that to mommy.”

He lay there, feeling the beat of his heart slowing down. The blood from his wound pooled up around him as he took his last few breaths. Shining crimson from the light of the full moon reflected only his wife's face, a face full of relief.