[Posted for Genre Shorties. Prompt: write about Tracy Fabre -- hey, that's me -- using one of the provided opening lines.]
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.
You’re wondering how I can fit in the sink?
Well, when that Fabre woman zaps you with one evil look from her Big Green Eye, suddenly you fit into a lot of places.
My biggest worry is whether I can climb out before she tries to use the garbage disposer, because that is gonna hurt SO bad in the moments before I croak.
She’s not ‘right’ in the head. She mutters about ‘Genre Shorties’ and ‘100 words.’ It’s crazy talk; the mumblings of a madwoman.
Pray for me. I gotta get out of here.