Prompt: This would be her last meal with them

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Empty wine glass

Welp, that didn’t go sho bad…

This would be her last meal with them. It didn’t take a genius to realise that. Mr and Mrs Hamish – her with her squeaky-white pearls and blue rinse and he in his three-piece suit, more mustache than face, both sat up so ramrod straight they probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid if you inserted a pole up each of their arses – they hadn’t exactly warmed to her. She didn’t entirely blame them.

No, she blamed Hamish, the man himself, currently attempting to burrow himself into his ridiculous pseudo-artsy cravat before either party could decapitate him. What a coward. What a wretched, craven, sexy, sexy coward. There was no way he would ever wrap his sexy, sexy coward’s body around hers again.

“Och well, might as well make the most of a bad joke”, she thought, reaching across to where they’d parked the frightfully expensive Chateau de Collapso and pouring herself as generous a measure as physics would permit. Mr Hamish had earlier pronounced it “really rather splendid”, before – and she swore she hadn’t even touched a drop by this point – whinnying to himself.

She looked up, laughing to herself, and froze. The entire table was staring back, except Mr Hamish, whose eyes had become unfortunately fixated on the squid captured in mid ink splooge tattooed between her breasts as she’d swooped on the vino.

“Did I say that out loud?”

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Prompt: One look at his closet

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Skulls and bones

But still, he can’t be all bad…

One look at his closet told me all I needed to know. The skeletons, for one thing; those would have to go. The serial killer look had been done – well – to death, and I wouldn’t be seen… with a man who… Well. They had to go.

The fact that they were skeletons and not more meat-y probably meant that they’d been here some time. That could be a good thing. It had been a long time ago. A moment of… serial madness. We all make mistakes – goodness knows I did! – but people can change! He can change.

The meat thing would make it easier to dispose of them too. Less gooey. And with them out of the closet, weighted down with rocks and dumped off Wells Point, we can put the past behind us, and start to focus on what really matters: us.