Romance is dead?
Unusually, they had the park to themselves.
It was a serenely beautiful morning, too. She was contented; amazed that it had worked out so well. They lay together where the clump of woodland, burgeoning and brightly splashed with the caress of Spring, sprawled into the neat beds of grass.
Was this, she wondered, the right moment to make her intentions clear? The thrill of anticipation was an almost unbearable ecstasy.
She looked blissfully at the corpse. Its head was shattered; the fresh, spilled contents tantalising her so that she shivered.
"Let me slip into something more comfortable," said the boreworm.
About the Author
Chris Walker is a writer of short fiction; a husband, father, dog-owner, game designer, and lover of all kinds of reading.
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