“I applied for a job at an eraser factory last week,” said Fuen.
“Oh aye,” replied Reala. “How did it go?”
“Not sure,” replied Fuen. “It was going well until they asked me what I thought qualified me for the job.”
“And?” pushed Yuffie.
“I handed them a blank resume and told them I thought my work would speak for itself,” sighed Fuen.
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He snags his arm on a rock. With a rip, he tears a strip of his wetsuit off along with his skin. Blood trails through the water. He keeps wriggling.
She grabs his foot, she needs him to calm down.
He drops his air tank, kicking free of her grip, and swimming the last few metres into open space.
She hangs back, and with a sigh, watches the shadow of a three-headed undead shark moving towards him.
The water turns red.
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She closed the front door behind her with a sigh. Emptying her handbag onto the sideboard revealed a powder compact, a lipstick, some lip balm, and a loose penny, which landed on its side and stood upright.
“That’s supposed to be lucky,” said her husband, handing her a drink.
“I could use some good fortune after the day I’ve had,” she laughed.
Her husband nodded, downing his own whisky. Toasting himself silently, willing her to drink the poison-laden glass. He hadn’t noticed he’d given her the wrong one.