Foiled Escape

By Inkplume

The freezer drawer slides open; ice clinks in a glass. The scotch bottle cap twists, liquid sloshes, footsteps approach the living room.

With each sip he takes, her stomach tightens. Soon, too soon, he is back in the kitchen.

“Leave now!” she thinks.

The freezer drawer slides open, ice clinks, scotch sloshes, he returns. He sighs, a long, dramatic sigh. It starts.

“This show is stupid. That actor is an asshole.”

With each sip, the comments get nastier. He points the remote at the television to change the channel.

Now! she thinks, rising silently.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I write to tell the stories (both real and fiction) that are inside clamoring to get out.” – the writer

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