Dirty Martini Memories

photo courtesy of marialoveswords.com

photo courtesy of marialoveswords.com

Written for  Lillie Mcferrin’s Five Sentence Fiction: Prompt – Forgotten

She sat on the blanket, opened the flask, and poured the chilled liquid into the glasses tittering on the grass between them. “Made them just the way you like them, up dirty, bruised with blue cheese olives.”

The breeze stirred and she could have sworn it brought the scent of Chanel.

She smiled as memories flooded her mind and lifted the glass high. “To my dearest friend, you have not been forgotten.”

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Eyes Like Sapphire

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photo courtesy of fanpop.com

Death does not haunt me. I see it every day in my line of work. You get use to the inhumanity of man after a while. An anonymous call brought us to the back alley.

She lay, naked and exposed, off the path of the bottle strewn lane. Her exquisite porcelain skin glistened with morning dew and a manicured hand rested against the splay of her black, silken hair.

The color of her open eyes, the way they spoke to me is what I remember most. The blue was sapphire, piercing, and cold. They haunt me still.

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#16 The prompt this week links these together:     …the blue was sapphire…

 

Praying for Rain

Samantha woke to the rustle of dry leaves and gusts of wind. The springs creaked as she pulled herself from the old, worn bed. Her damp, silk slip clung to her as she moved toward the window. She leaned against the sill and felt the stroke of the cool breeze. She tilted her head back ran the wet cloth down the length of her neck and prayed for rain.

Lillie Mcferrin Writes – Five Sentence Fiction- Open

Unheeded Warning

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photo curtesy of abcnews.go.com

 Lillie McFerrin Writes: Five Sentence Fiction – Villainous

Adam stepped from behind the closed door, “Where the hell you been, woman?”

She squeezed her eyes shut against the spew of anger and drunken spittle, cowered against the counter, and waited for the inevitable.

“You mark my words, Norma Jean, a tiger don’t change his stripes,” her mother warned.

“He’s changed, mama. You don’t know him like I do.”

The back of his hand landed hard and she tried to think of happier times; he hadn’t always been this way.