A little taste, something to wet your whistle with… One Image with Eight Different Viewpoints, eight fellow hoppers!
Fillmore Street Park
He walked to the old bench at the Fillmore Street Park for his evening think. He’d done it for years. He was loving her that night. He’d done that for years as well. With a groan—his old bones protesting, he sat and smiled, wrinkling an old face. Children played while he slumped, his heart seizing. She came soon after, just to check on him. She had stayed behind to clean the dishes. Same thing every night of their marriage. The poisoned glass was something new. She tossed it in the trash and smiled, knowing it was no longer needed.
Name Your Poison
Two measuring beakers wait on the left. The poisons, skull and cross-bones displayed on the bottles, are sitting on the right.
The labels tell a story. Mix them all together and it spells one thing. Doom.
Two parts salt from Sodom…
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