The Garden Pond — Paul Weightman

Deborah fell to the floor, her red hair fanned out around her head, and a small trickle of blood slowly streamed from her temple. The red scarf in her hand trailed downward with her, falling across her flat stomach. She moaned weakly and tried to pull herself upward. A soft moan came from her throat. "Darrel...you..." she whispered. He pounced like a leopard on his prey. In one swift move, he grabbed the jump rope from the bed and straddled her body. He placed the rope around her neck and pulled it tighter and tighter. She tried to raise her arm in protest, her other hand wrestling the rope, her eyes begging him to stop. But Darrel did not see the pleas, he did not want to see what she was feeling or what he was doing to her. He was oblivious to all but the determination to conquer.