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Parma Violets

December 21, 2018

Small, unwanted, and overlooked. Carole was surprised at how much she had in common with the pale purple, overly perfumed sweets that sat in two piles on the counter front of her. Like them, she was nobody’s first or even second choice. She just wasn’t to people’s taste. Unfashionable. Unloved. The only people that bothered with her only did so because of some feeling of obligation caused by a slightly rose-tinted view of the relationship they had when younger. The similarities were uncanny.

‘Twelve,’ said Carole as she moved one tiny candy from the left pile to the right as if counting on an abacus. Then she promptly shot yet another one of the hostages that huddled in terror on the floor of the department store.  Ignoring the screams and cries for mercy, Carole cocked the pistol and began to move another sweet.

‘Thirteen.’

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From → Writing

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