What a cliché • Three Line Tales
Blood, brains and pieces of skull had been dripping their way ever so slowly downwards on the wall above what was once a man’s head, his mouth still full with the pump-action’s barrel, with one muscular hand holding the other end on his six-pack.
‘What a cliché’ Bigsby muttered through her COVID-19 protection mask which sat half crooked on her face in order to allow some room for the thick straw which other end sat in an iced Latte, ‘what possessed him…’ she continued barely audible, more to herself than anyone else ‘…to spend more than two months in this deserted excuse for paradise?’
Her partner, walking over to switch off the mini-stereo on the dresser opposite the luxury twin bed which played the same song on repeat ‘let me take you down to Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls are pretty…’, said ‘paradise… what a cliché.’
For the previous entries in Three Line Tales just click.