Conviction took her as she approached
the wretch; he lay swooned from drink and debauchery.
She gripped him by the hair as she brought his
own weapon down upon his neck. Halfway did it
stop and and he lay there breathing quietly
from the cleft in his throat.
“Beast of land with tough neck as if of
knotted wood!” she lamented.
Again a blow rained down sending the head of
Holofernes rolling from the bed and across the
carpeted floor of his tent.
“Glory! Glory! Glory!” crooned the
scaled cherubs “do not settle as of yet,
dear lady, bid your maid do retrieve the head
and place it in a ration sack.” This she
did, following the urges of the divine voices,
and she rolled his body off the bed, and rent
the canopy from its posts.