The senator's home phone was ringing again. He was seated on the patio out back, whiskey in hand.
"Dammit, Kevin! She keeps calling!" shouted his wife from inside. "She has call centers now, honey. Funded by her billionaire donors," he replied.
He heard his wife pick up the phone and scream, "Stop calling us, Ginni! The election is over! We lost!" She hung up and stepped out onto the patio, fuming. "If this entitled lunatic doesn't stop calling us, I'm moving back home. This woman is insane!"
She held the phone up, waiting. The senator took another sip.
*ring* *ring*
About the Creator
Marc Peraino
Short fiction and poetry author in Honolulu, Hawaii.
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The Saloon Murders
It’s late in the evening. The cowboys and cowgirls are all in bed. A woman is sitting in the dark again. She is at her desk typing details in a letter. She doesn’t need the light to see what is being typed. She’s got it down to a science. She types it urgently as if it’s a matter between life and death. The typewriter dings with each return. She is frantic and determined to fix what this woman has done to the man she loves. In mid-sentence, the phone rings causing her to jump. She answers it.
By Meredith McLarty4 days ago in Fiction
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