Don’t Pea the Bed

John re-read the note, wondering if he’d overstepped.

Thanks for the hospitality.

I had a hard time sleeping, so I did some investigating. Lo and behold! I found a dried chickpea under my mattress.

I can’t believe you tested me!

Penelope

P.S. Calling yourself a real “Prince” is creepy.


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Noir

Crimson splatters line the walls, crime scene tape girds the door. Shattered glass, a single lily, and pristine white shagpile carpet grace the floors.

He lifts the needle, abruptly silencing the Shostakovitch piano concerto.

Tipping back his trilby, he scratches his head. Who still uses a record player?

Image credit: SouthernRebel/pixabay

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