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The Sting of Love

Copyright 2013 Douglas T. Vale

Cover image courtesy of Nickhead /

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As the scorpion crawled across the pale desert sands, he discovered two sunburned women trudging along. He watched and followed. The women seemed ready to collapse. One was short and small, her carrot hair tightly bound behind her head. Her freckled face was crisp red from the sun. She took out a canteen and gulped. Water trickled down her chin.

"Careful, careful, damn it," said the other, a tall woman. She had obscenely straight blond hair to her shoulders. She also wore a tan fedora with a black band around the middle. Both women were drenched in sweat and speckled with the grime of their journey.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm really sorry, here, you hold it then, I'm getting spotty out here," The redhead said, holding the canteen towards the other with a shaking hand. "Where are we even going, anyway? Are we headed the right way? This desert, it's so huge, and it doesn't seem like we're getting anywhere. Are we lost? Oh God, are we lost, Zoriah?"

"Goddamn it, you bitch, I told you not to call me that," The blond bunched her fists. "You goddamn ginger snap! Do. Not. Call me that. Again. Or else."

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