Black Swan II

It was happy hour at the Black Swan and the masks had come off. Mark pressed Flora against the wall, crushing her overheated body. He mumbled in her ear — no doubt vaingloriously extolling his attributes, but she was too busy avoiding his foul breath to listen. She was parched and was reaching for her glass on the ledge, when someone knocked it over, flooding them both with beer and making a sticky situation even stickier. She was wriggling out of his grasp, when the fire alarm went off. Smoke was coming from the kitchen. And in the corner, someone coughed.

Inspired by Black Swans. Photo by Primal Frog.