Word count: 266

In response to the first cookienook challenge:

Source: any
Rating: no NC-17 (just for your first time around)
Word limit: none; must be a one-shot

Setting: A strange place to meet

Requirements:
-someone says the phrase, "You don't look very happy about that."
-a fork is involved in some unexpected way

…and it seems that, upon looking at the requirements, I must not have read them properly. Because I didn't even follow the first few requirements. Oops. Well, it was a long time ago, and no one noticed, so what can you do?

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Red Fork

She coughed as she leaned against the door, wet fingers slipping on the metal as she struggled to unlock the bolt. Her soaked, matted hair fell repeatedly over her eyes, and the young woman pushed it away half-heartedly, tears flowing freely down her face. The rain outside was deafening, pattering on the roof, on the cars, and on the gravel with relentless anger. Finally the young woman pushed open her door, and fell through it onto the mat in a heap. A black purse lay forgotten to the side.

Her body was shaking, and her face was white, as if she'd just seen a ghost. Gently reaching a hand into her jeans pocket, she pulled out a small handkerchief, it's edges frayed and the purple lace that once lined it torn away fiercely. Sobbing gently into the already very waterlogged piece of cloth, her mouth started to form words, their meaning drowned out by the hum of the refrigerator. Her left hand suddenly clamped itself tightly around an unknown object.

Her arm started to move slowly upwards, the thing in her hand glinting strangely in the light. She held it up close to her face, lips quivering. Her blurry eyes focused desperately on the metal in her hands, and she gasped involuntarily as she heard his voice, in her head, once again. 'You don't look very happy about that,' he'd said, right up against her ear. 'What a shame.'

She looked once more at the dark red liquid dripping from the tips of the metal fork. No, she wasn't happy about that...nor would she ever be.