Breakfast of Champions

Be forewarned, my dark twist is back today.

He slammed the refrigerator door closed, rifled through the pantry, then came into view, dipping his fingers into an open jar of peanut butter.

“I can fix you breakfast,” she said, the tremor in her voice unmistakable.

He licked his fingers and ran a sticky hand up her thigh, “Nah, haven’t you heard, PB is like the breakfast of champions; I’m good.

She trembled, feeling the rope cut into her hands as she turned her face from the stench of her own fear, sweat, and peanut butter.

As he brushed, an errant curl from her face with the gun and murmured to her, she closed eyes and prayed.

A Perfect Match

She read the names aloud as if one would speak to her; it’s me.

“Ruby Red, Fire Engine Red, Startling Red, Kiss Me Red.”

Maybe she was wrong.

“Cheating Red.”

She raised the stick higher and ran it across the crumpled, red-stained shirt in her hand. It was a perfect match.





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