“Look, on that rock, a dragonfly. Pretty.”
We were sitting alongside a beautiful mountain stream. We were on vacation, but it hadn’t been much fun.
“I think it’s a damselfly.”
She frowned and picked up a pebble and tossed it in the water. The damselfly, or dragonfly, flitted away, leaving only the murmur of water moving over rocks.
“You’re always doing that.”
“Always correcting me.”
I kept my mouth shut. Grasshoppers sawed in the summer air. She stood up.
“I’m going back to the cabin. I need some space.”
That was the day I first thought about killing her.
Regarding your comments: Please feel free to honestly say whatever you want about my stories. Insightful criticism makes the writing better. Misguided criticism I just ignore. The only problem is sorting out which is which.