[A short story I wrote in 2020, left unpublished.] They tear their flesh off in their cardboard cutouts. He gets out his keyring and strokes a small pocket knife. He holds it in the air, up to Aerona's neck. He mimics slitting her throat. He starts to smile, thinking of it. It's a pretty nice fantasy. As he does this, he sees her knife scars. They coat her arms, he goes in closer and looks at them. They go here and there, at all sorts of angles. They aren't clean, they aren't lines.