February 7, 2008
His bones throbbed, his blood-shot eyes widened.
Flames of deviance rose from his fire logs.
He looked left, glared right.
Relief, he was alone.
Revenge, he burnt her snow white rug.
“Solitude,” he muttered.
“Not quite,” she whispered, as she pierced him from behind.
Flames of deviance, and now human flesh rose from his fire logs.

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