Fifty-five word short short

The Date

Dust bathes the typewriter.  “The last visa,” she mumbles.

He grins.  “Now we have date!”

He shoulders his bayonet, drags her to a shed, and pushes her down.  “Sit!”

Eyes shut, she hears cloth rip.

He whispers, “Thank for typing.”  He touches her lips with the smooth brown fruit.  “Eat!  We have date together.  Eat!”

About munickat

. . . just a soul whose intentions are good and who did the best she could with what she had. . . .

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