Midnight
By Nancy V. Sont
It was nearly midnight. Lois had come over with movies and pizza. Clark had sat beside her. Comfortably. They’d laughed, argued and teased. How often had they done this? They hadn't even looked at the paperwork they were supposedly going over.
The movie credits were running. Crusts of pizza had slid from the precariously placed box on the coffee table to the carpet when Lois had yawned and stretched her legs.
Clark’s arm was across the back of the couch almost touching Lois. Another perfect evening. He’d tell her in a minute, as soon as the clock stopped chiming.
It's always such an embarrassment. Having to do away with someone. It's like announcing to the world that you lack the savvy and the finesse to deal with the problem more creatively. I mean, there have been times, naturally, when I've had to have people eliminated, but it's always saddened me. I've always felt like I've let myself down somehow.
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