This one was written as a get-well-soon for Jo Oldani-Osborne.
She wiped her mouth and heaved in a shuddering breath. Melpomene handed her a towel and a glass of water for rinsing out the foul taste. “Thalia, talk to me! What’s going on? You’ve been sick for hours now. This is getting tragic.”
Terpsichore danced over. “I don’t want to harp on you, sis, but Melpomene is right.” The others crowded around, concern on all their faces.
Clio shook her head. “It’s not as if you have a history of nausea, Thalia.”
Thalia bent over the basin again and moaned. “It’s these Flash Fiction writers. They just make me spew!”
She wiped her mouth and heaved in a shuddering breath. Melpomene handed her a towel and a glass of water for rinsing out the foul taste. “Thalia, talk to me! What’s going on? You’ve been sick for hours now. This is getting tragic.”
Terpsichore danced over. “I don’t want to harp on you, sis, but Melpomene is right.” The others crowded around, concern on all their faces.
Clio shook her head. “It’s not as if you have a history of nausea, Thalia.”
Thalia bent over the basin again and moaned. “It’s these Flash Fiction writers. They just make me spew!”
