a couple more drabbles with September prompts...


It's just murder.

It's just murder, he says. It's just murder. Just murder. He has to say it one hundred sixteen times before he realizes it's not just murder, it's a tragedy.

.

Appetite aroused by the smell of your fear.

There's nothing like a mouthful of cake, he thinks, when pulling information out of mouths with methods best left unsaid. Especially coffee cake. There's something about the. bitter flavor that is just so perfectly sweet for these occasions.

.

He said: "Here's the key to heaven."

Kevin Regnard holds the golden key against his heart, pressed against the black clock ticking away towards something he hopes and kills and hopes some more for. The golden key to heaven, to a paradise where he can remember how he had smiled, where it was Sinclairs, and not the Sinclair. But it's the wrong key; it's not golden, it's just a trick of the light, because when he comes to it's not the Sinclairs, not even the Sinclair, because there are no Sinclairs left.

.

I can't keep changing just because you think I should.

"No." He says. Sharon exchanges the ruffled bonnet for a flowered one. "No." He says. She puts on a woven sunhat. "No." He says. She slips a small bouquet of pink and purple flowers into the ribbon around the sunhat. "No." He says. She exchanges the bouquet for a yellow and orange one. "No." He says. She takes the sunhat off and puts on a black one with lace trimmings. "No." He says. She takes the hat off and slips on a checkered fedora, complete with a tacky feather. "…No." he says. Sighing, Sharon throws the fedora amongst the sea of a hundred hats and glares at Break. "I'm not going to keep changing just because you don't think anything will ever match with an orange dress. So come on, I have to decide on a pair of shoes too."