Pollyanna Noir — 55 word Microfiction


For those who regularly read this blog, this entry will be a change to the usual flavor. It is a 55 word  noir flash fiction piece that I am submitting to an anthology-in-the-making. Hope you like it. It’s twisted.

Pollyanna Noir

F. Moore Copyright 2012

Pollyanna glides sweetly across the floor, popping caps, pouring another round. The perfect hostess, refilling drinks here and there, with a killer smile.

She eyes the horde before her. Stepping back, she clasps and unclasps her long fingers.

Under her breath, she murmurs, “Drink. Drink up, my pretties.” Pollyanna hates them. “And die.”

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4 responses »

  1. It’s very unhealthy to bury hate deep down in the heart – a much better place is to bury the bodies in the backyard. The southern hospitality is so famous that I’d gladly accept any beverage out of your hands – no matter what’s in it. 😉

  2. Ah, the nectar of death…and popping the caps you say > it reminds me of releasing the fizz of life.

    Yup, these two will make a perfect couple.

    I wonder if my ‘guy’ is carrying on with your Polyanna – and his poor wifey ended up on the dinner table…hmmm, shall we develop this on line, I wonder…

    • You got me thinking — if your guy’s ex is dinner, what’s in the glasses? Maybe her ex? Maybe she’s popping caps off homemade Bloody Mary mix. That drink is just a tad too thick and the red a hair to the dark side. 🙂

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