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Grudges…

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Her high heels clattered on the floor, as she walked to the counter, and picked the bottle of Château Lafite.

You’re lucky, John… I don’t like to hold grudges. It messes with my sleep.

He still wondered why she hadn’t sent one of her hitmen to gut him out. She usually wasn’t on the forgiving side, to say the least.

She walked back, and handed him the glass. She raised hers and they took a sip from the expensive nectar.

I thought you’d…  John coughed.

Oh Dear… I don’t hold grudges, but to be honest, I don’t forgive losers either.

 

 

 

I might just be stubborn, given my past fails, but I am giving a shot at the NYC Midnight Challenge, again. This is a practice for the 100-Word Microfiction challenge starting in two weeks. The prompts for this story were Suspense or Thriller/ Pouring a glass of wine / honest.

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