“You will meet a tall, dark stranger tonight.”

Mabel looked up from her honeyed noodles and rolled her eyes. “Really, Beth? Fortune cookie nonsense.”

Beth turned up her nose at Mabel and pocketed the note.

“It must be my lucky day,” she replied.

Outside, stood Death,  dark hood in place, sharpening his sickle with precision.


This was written for the week-long Festival of Words for Write Tribe

For 7th March this was our prompt:

Write a piece (or as many as you like) of 55-fiction on your blog

Click here to read more entries! 

I'm taking part in the Write Tribe Festival of Words -3

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