by Lisa Pepe

She was obsessed with finding the perfect shade of red lipstick. She read every beauty article she could find, compared skin undertones, chalked her wrists with dots of samples, consulted the lipstick technicians in white coats across brightly lit department store counters who assured her that she looked radiant. But tonight there was a new shade that had caught her eye; this red was perfect as it was vibrant, deep and smooth. It eclipsed any of the crimsons, cranberries, wines or cherries that had tempted her before. Her blank lips formed a smirk in the mirror as she glanced from her image to the bed where her husband lay sprawled- his eyes wide, a blond woman entwined under his heavy legs. She tucked the gun back in her bedside table, delicately stooped down and dipped a single index finger into a pool of blood, pursed her lips, dabbed the viscous red on her pretty pout and thought with grim satisfaction, "it really is the prefect shade."


Lisa Pepe is also obsessed with finding the perfect shade of red lipstick, but thinks her skin undertones are too warm for a blood red.