An amalgam of this year’s worst short story contest entries
By Laura Marrich
The night was soft and suffocating like the clingy sundress she wore. "Shake your hips, Talula," he gurgled, moving in time with music she could not hear. They had met on that same country backroad so long ago. Did she remember? He pressed her closer. The farmer's girl, the one with pretty mouth. He wondered if she knew how badly he needed her. How the thought of her sunburned shoulders drove him to the limits of his sanity. Closer and closer. She said nothing still. She's always been such a quiet girl he thought, as red velvet lipstick rememberences turned to blood and piss pooled across lips.
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