PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
WARNING: may not be suitable for squeamish readers
Rats gnawing. Stabbing pain. Falling forever. Maniacal laughter.
Trevor woke with a splash, teeth chattering enough to chip his caps, in a tub he didn’t recognize. The water was ice cold – and pink. Head fuzzy, he cast about to orient. White towels soaked bright red lined the small ceramic-tiled floor. His back throbbed.
The last thing Trevor remembered was laughing with a knockout brunette at a club Sammy had told him about. Ree suggested they move to a table in the back shadows where they could get cozy. The last thing he drank was a special martini Ree suggested.
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Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the authoress/artist host of Friday Fictioneers.