I got an email from Goodreads, challenging me (and whoever else was on the mailing list, I guess) to a two-sentence horror story. Well, why not, I thought? Last night I came up with the story. Today I thought I’d add a tanka to it.

What this all is, I don’t know, but it was fun. Maybe I’ll try more of these little things. I am not the novel-writing kind of person, but short (miniscule? extra-tiny? microscopic?) stories like this is something my mind seems to embrace.

Ok, here goes.

Cara sat rigid, fingers clawing into the plush arms of the club chair with its incongruous rose pattern, a design she now saw as a crowd of leering faces. And they were faces that offered her no help as she continued to sink, her nails scraping tracks across the blowsy pink blooms, the chair taking its time digesting her.

With long-practiced guile
that comfortable acquaintance
that opportunist
reeled you in with promises.
Devoured you. Lip-smacking good.

(Tanka 74)

Mail art postcard, 2016.

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