Based off a starter prompt from a friend, "The liquid in the glass was clear, but given the woman handing it to me; I couldn't be sure what that meant." 100 word drabble. Don't own, never will.
D.R.
The liquid in the glass was clear, but given the woman handing it to me; I couldn't be sure what that meant. She has every right to want me dead, most women do actually. I can't exactly blame any of them, even in light of not intentionally offending them I seem to do so anyways. It's not that I'm worried about which grievance I may have employed this time so much as the overall accumulation of such grievances. The more I contemplate the glass the more I wonder if it is worth concern. After all, it is all poison anyways.