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.
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.”