Fiction in 58

Time for a Fiction in 58. That’s 58 words, no more, no less.

Spat
The flat is filled with scents: burnt toast, coffee, candles, a faint whiff of her favorite cologne.
He approaches the bedroom and detects trails of lotion, musk – sex. His heartbeat rises. His heart sinks.
He bursts in; she’s not there.
The passion. The argument. The storming off.
A new scent fills him with fear.
An iron smell.
Blood.

3 comments:

quin browne said...

Note to self: Do not piss Thom off.

You've developed this 58 word thing into a definite art form... well done.

Jeni Mc said...

see I like this. I could play this game. no beginning. no end.

mrae said...

This is Good!!