Outside the window waves were cresting in slow motion as the tide began to pull away. Each opaque bubble of foam slid across the peaks and valleys of individual ripples that riveted the water.  They did sickening things with the moon’s reflection, swirling it in a myriad of ghostly greens and golds, stretching it out until it was an unnatural oblong setting in the sea.

Just on the other side of the window, the moon was devastatingly still.  Certainly it hadn’t moved in the silence that had rushed in to fill the void left by the spark of the muzzle.  The scene was illuminated just the same.  The flowers looking more purple than blue where they sat in the low light that struck the bedside stand in the corner.  Her bed was mostly darkness, the heavy comforter still pulled over unruffled sheets.  There was a glint of moon off the mirror that hid most of her reflection in dazzling light so all that hung in the glass was the barrel of the shotgun, suspended and alone.

The only motion in the room was the growing pool of his blood, spilling across the floor as it was pulled towards moon like the tide.