Marva ran her rough thumb down the axe blade, blood droplets bulging on the pad. She sucked it clean, then stomped outside, her breath billowing in the brisk air.
Tom stood beside the barn, watching a pig wallow, oblivious. Creeping up, Marva grabbed his scrawny neck with farm-strong hands. He squawked. She slammed him across a stump and swung her axe. His skinny legs jerked. Blood spurted sprinkler-like from his neck. His severed head shot to the ground. One eye stared at Marva, saying betrayal.
“Big thanks, Tom,” said Marva. “Whole family’s coming for Thanksgiving. Couldn’t feed them without you.”