free image source: freepik.com   After he left the room, she sat there in the heavy silence looking at the ring on the table through his untouched glass of Scotch. The amber liquid made it seem larger than it was…and like it was somehow hovering above the table, wavering like a mirage in the desert. Maybe that’s what their marriage had always been. Reaching over the glass, she picked up the ring and dropped it in. It sunk quickly, tapping quietly against the bottom. She picked it up, swirled it, and downed the entire contents in one swallow. Fuck him. She’d shit it out tomorrow.   Join in… The 💯…

Gray flesh sagged from his bones. Even from this distance, she could see the curved lines it created, like stacked smiles in his skin. He shuffled toward her, mindless hunger driving his lurching movements. Shuddering, she tried to shrink behind the counter. Her surgical mask clung to her face, sticking to the sweat, holding in the heat of her breath. Months ago, they’d promised the end was in sight. Yet, here she was…watching her grandfather’s macabre dance. The morning news said it was now airborne. She considered her options…the ruins of her life… …and slowly removed her mask, inhaling deeply.   Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow…

I’m not sure why I looked up. I wasn’t drawn by lustful moans or the slick scent of hidden sex. But I sensed something…untoward. From the sidewalk, I watched the shadows of their infidelity ride the waves of our billowing white bedroom curtains. It was 8:03 pm on a Thursday night when my marriage went up in smoke. I considered stomping up the stairs, barging in, making a scene. I also considered sitting right there in the middle of the sidewalk, sobbing, and throwing my ring down the sewer drain. Instead, I walked into “our” pub and ordered a beer.   Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge You can follow…

Though her eyes wouldn’t rise above his elbow, uncharacteristic boldness encouraged words that she’d not rehearsed, as she usually might have. “Your suggestion?” “The special…succulent…tender…moist…comes dressed in…creamy sauce…fingerling potatoes drizzled with…” She bit her lip. Sharp intake of breath. Thighs pressed together. Eyes closed and rolled back. All it took was his description. The cadence and rhythm of his words. She could drink them, imagine the taste, and then leave, still hungry, yet satiated, his voice vibrating on the back of her tongue. She wanted to swallow him whole. But…right now…she was on a diet.     Join in… The 💯 Story Challenge