Billy picked up his second of two daughters, Marissa, who was only four years of age.

The flaxen haired child giggled at him, and tugged at her daddy’s ear.

Don’t! I promise – please!

Billy set her down, and shoved her lightly in the direction of her sister.

The little girl squealed and ran off.

Billy sat in his armchair.

Help, somebody, help me!

He absentmindedly lit a match and stuck it into the hungry mouth of his pipe, producing smoke.

Billy puffed once or twice.

What did I ever do to you?

He looked at his watch, checking if it was lunchtime. Linda would have made pasta, wouldn’t she?

Why are you doing this?!

Billy shrugged at his thoughts, strafing his gaze over the bed of flowers outside. For a moment, the gleaming spring colors were plastered with scarlet, steeped in sin.

It faded away soon enough.

“Daddy, daddy, watch me!”

Billy obeyed.

Why…?

”’Death is the mother of beauty…’” was his thoughtful answer.

“Said somethin’, hun?”

“Nope. That smells mighty good, Linda.”