Coffee and Murder
What do a Children’s Author, a Romance Author, and a Podcaster have in common?
When they sit and drink coffee together, they write a great tale of bloody revenge.
Welcome to the first edition of Coffee and Murder with Sherry Shearhart, Melissa Roberts and me: Coffeefitnessunicorn.
It started out as a conversation over coffee: Tales from the Coffee Table then somehow took a dark, twisted turn with violence and gore. And don’t forget the coffee–that was still involved. Never forget about the coffee.
Tales From the Coffee Table is a brilliant idea/concept that Sherry and Melissa do every Thursday and they invited me to join them; I was a little nervous as I haven’t done shared writing prompts in years, and it was my first time writing with these lovely ladies. I was afraid I would be too dark and my prose would be flat compared to their flowery words. I was extremely happy and surprised that they too have a dark, twisted side and we wrote a coffee and murder story together.
Russian Bride Story:
As night became day, she started to understand the truth….
The truth that she didn’t want to accept, but the truth that she suspected all along. It was dark!
Like a black cup of coffee; but not sweet; unless you consider the sweet smell of death tasty.
The blood trickled down her fingers, and the the taste for revenge was still fluttering in her heart.
The sweet taste soon turned metallic as her first full revenge was quenched. She waited until the time was perfect. Revenge had to come at a cost. There was no guilt as she felt like her conscience was clear she deserved it.
She waited years to sink her fangs into that piece of shit.
As she bent down , she pulled a knife out and cut out his lying tongue. She walked across the billiard room and stuck it to the dart board.
This will come as no surprise. I was told that I was the weakest link. Coming from a family riddled with crime. This serves as restitution for the sins of my father.
I could smell the blood as it dripped from the dart board. Staining the paint for a life time. Serving as a reminder that my sin is guiltless. I have no guilt or shame for taking the life from someone that took so much from me. Now, sitting by my fathers grave.
As I walk away with blood dripping from my fingers. I take pride in taking the life of this man and I will never have a date again. Which is fine with me, now that I’ve found my strength I am confident to sit guiltless with my sins and enjoy a cup of coffee by myself.
The man with no tongue assumed he could order a mail order bride. I felt sick and cheapened. My brother assumed I had not worth and discarded me from the family. I was abducted from my room and sedated. I awoke in the back of a shipping container and found myself in nothing but my birthday suit.
I knew in that moment that I desired to seek revenge, revenge for the abuse for all that I endured for all of those years, the abuse for the secrets that I had to keep. Revenge was imminent and I knew that I had to do it myself.
Rising like a Phoenix, I bit my tongue as a reminder to do what I had to do, the metallic filled my mouth. The taste of sweet revenge. Every time the anxiety came back for everything that he did to me I would bite my tongue. It was a satisfying and erotic response to coping.
I sit beside you, my father, pulling out my tumbler of steaming goodness, I inhale and release a satisfying breath. I dip the tip of the tongue and squeeze some blood onto my fingers. I toss the tongue, stepping onto it with my stiletto heel and swirl the coffee with my fingers and lick them clean.
“Oh dearest daddy, you were so wrong about me. You decided I should be discredited. I was a daughter, not a son! In your mind I was frail, I was not allowed a voice. I was only a girl. But I watched and learnt from he back seat of your car. From the other side of the door. Peering through a window of the world you tried to hide from me. You gave your legacy to my brother. He’s so stupid and believed that sending me away at 16 would be a favour and keep me out of the way. I actually blame you and him.
And since I can’t repay your kindness to you your corpse… Nicholas, oh your precious Nicholas. My brother, he is next. I bring to you a trophy of what I did to the man who bought me. His tongue lay at the base of your tombstone, like yesterdays trash. I have his money. A lot of it. It’s enough to pay for all I need. I came here to let you know I am more than alright! Its a shame you didn’t see my worth. You could have had a queen run your empire. Rot in hell, you miserable bastard.”
Thank you for a great time Sherry and Melissa.
I’ll write with you anytime!!
Tales From the Coffee Table taught me to never, ever underestimate the power of creativity.
To watch the full hour of creative chaos, see video below:
Thank you, thank you, thank you for having me be part of the conversation and sharing in all the laughter; you are a great writing team.
Here’s to all the creatives. Here’s to trying new things. Here’s to facing writing fears. Here’s to creating and shining in a chaotic world.
Go Forth and Be Magical.