Clipping letters out of newspapers requires patience, a steady hand and nimbleness with scissors. Brutus Dennison was now discovering that a dry touch was also a necessity.

“Stupid ‘k’s,” he spit on himself, trying to shake a crumpled ‘W’ that clung to his sweaty palm and collected dirt and small sticks from his make-shift workspace. “Why are ‘k’s so difficult to find?”

Mildred laughed to herself. Brutus wiped his brow and left smears of newspaper ink and glue across his visage, causing Mildred to laugh so hard that a coughing fit overtook her slouched body. As each appendage regained control, Mildred caught her breath and straightened herself, reaching into her pocket.

“Use a ‘c’ instead, you idiot. This isn’t a spelling bee, it’s a ransom note.” She lifted a crystal flask to her lips but found that it was dry. Before she could return it to its comfy pocket home, her lips were wet- but it wasn’t the gin that ran down her chin. Her jaw began to pound with pain. She raised her head to find Brutus standing above her, panting, beads of sweat carving out paths through his ink-covered face.

“You damn bastard,” she answered, cupping her bottom jaw. “You damn bastard, you busted my damn mouth.”

Brutus Dennison blinked hard and quick. “Mildred- so help me- if you utter another word I’ll do it again.”

Mildred pulled herself up from her seat on a stump and shuffled her feet against the powerful force of gravity. Looking at her blood-soaked hand, she noticed that the ‘W’ that had clung so desperately to Brutus was now plastered across her palm. She swayed and steadied herself using a finger that pressed into Brutus’s lapel. Her other hand slowly crumpled into a bloodied fist.

Standing face to face, the two created a silhouette against the setting sun. From my point of view, one could have easily mistaken them as taking the first steps of a waltz. But before the next step of the waltz could be made, shards of crystal fell around me.