Ochre Idyls

Poems, Haiku/Tanka, Short Fictions

He expected her eyes to be open wide. They narrowed instead.

In spite of what you think you know, she began, when I thought of my death it was always a sudden demise. Never the death of a thousand cuts. So do me a favor, cut to the chase. Kill me.

I'm not here for that ma'am.

  • Fiction
  • 57 words
  • < 1 min
  • July 04, 2025