I recite the phrase while plucking the dandelion’s petals, one by one.
“What are you doing?” Chandra asks, reaching for a wine glass. It’s a lovely day for picnicking—birds tweeting in a slight breeze.
“Consulting,” I reply as the last petal detaches on ‘not’.
“But…Travis, you know I love you.”
Wordlessly, I wrap my hands around her throat. She bucks and claws, but her strength is no match against mine.
Only when her body stills and her eyes glaze over do I let go.
“I really do hope the next one loves me,” I say with a sigh.
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alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
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alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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