Pew. Pew. So the Duck decided to challenge her ego and join in the throng of writing a 100-words-story-prompt for the first time. Baffling, I know.
I don’t know much of the rules, other than the word count 100 (you can go over a little, we won’t ostracise you.. or bother to count either), the link, where you’ll find much more eloquent people and add your own link to feel like you belong. And…oh yeah, the Duck has oiled up slick to not feel moderately rough grabs at her take on this picture, that’s constructive criticisms for you slow ones – you’re supposed to specify that toos – Quack.
“You’re here.” He says.
She looks at him, as if at fault.
Adam takes a moment to swallow a mouthful of spit. He can feel the beginnings of furred and thickened tonsils.
He moves over to her side of the booth and – swallow – they make love against the window; shudder, the sun blinds him upon rolling waves, her face…what was…
Adam looks around him, his pants throbbing and moist. A waiter comes and asks if he’d like the early special.
“6am early bird.”
He looks at the outline of breathe on the window, it is real. Then, gone.