A couple of 75 word entries:
Red in Tooth and Claw
When they stop screaming, the fun starts all over again.
My orchestra of agony, my percussion of pain (amusing conceit, hmm?). I, the artiste, conduct bones crunching, blood spurting. Such delicious sounds. That last, frantic gasp – so desperate you can taste it.
Then he’s home, calling, “Where’s my beautiful girl?”, and I can’t play anymore.
Later, curled on his lap, his hands coaxing me to thrumming oblivion, I remember my orchestra, and purr.
* * * *
The Love Bug
I want to make pancakes.
Not. This. Morning.
Instead, I dig the knife into my thigh.
William murmurs sleepily. I go hot with desire, imagine waking him with a kiss.
I dig deeper. Gag.
Twist the blade, and-
It smashes into circuits against the floor I polished every sodding day.
I shove his identi-key in my apron pocket, scrawl blood across the table:
“Find yourself a real girlfriend, loser.”