Six sentence fiction strikes again!“I honestly don’t understand why the Nederlanders sold this place,” Priscilla mused over her imported coffee. It’s perfectly delightful, overlooks Central Park, and comes with a doorman who’s to die for.”
“For God’s sake, it’s haunted!” Janelle spat, clutching her Birkin bag to her chest in defense against the demons swirling around her, taunting her and her clueless friend with their gnashing teeth and blood-soaked eyes. “I know you wanted to move uptown, but you’re crazy if you stay another minute,” she cried and ran out the door, cowering under the onslaught.
“But they’re simply adjusting to change,” Priscilla called defiantly over her Prada clad shoulder, eyeing the otherworldly beings. “Eventually they’ll realize – I’m not going anywhere in this lifetime.”
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