Prom queen, wandering through the still, dark woods

beautiful, young, tired of noise, of others

thirst for a break, peaceful, trees- high heel breaks,

lapse of attention, one more person -person, not human-

slips with a blade through the pretty trees, once so quiet,

torn by screams, then finally she finds her long-sought silence.

Brother of the blade hears, and knows what, and how, and why-

but not who; that matters little