Triple 55 Word Stories

 

I purred happily. Inhaling smoke mixed with perfume gifted by him last night, I got out of bed.  My anger melted.  I wobbled as I rose, knocking off armchair.  His jacket fell with a jingle.  In top pocket I found key 102 of Ritz hotel.  His ex-flame had returned.  I plotted.  They were dead meat.

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He rubbed his hands gleefully. The townhouse was empty.  Its contents were his for the taking.  Owners were unaware of their house key loss as they shopped for Christmas gifts.  He tiptoed in from the garage door.  His eyes glistened greedily. Then his blood congealed.  Facing him snarling with exposed fangs, were two Doberman pincers!

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Drought had sucked lives like an epidemic.  Man and beast were dying like flies.  Gods had been invoked to no avail.  Rain song and dance could not invoke a single moisture laden cloud.  Gloom blanketed the town.  Then innocent palms childishly pleaded for rain kneeling in church.  She was heard. God responded in thunderous claps. 

 

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