Today’s writing prompt at The Daily Post is the word, flee.
“I just love Italian food!” Shelley feigned enthusiasm as she wound and unwound her long black hair around her fingers. “This menu is amazing…”
“Get whatever you want,” Eddie shrugged. “Looks like you could use a good meal.”
“Oh, I can’t decide…”
Eddie wished she’d leave her hair alone. It looked like she was trying to strangle her fingertips with it. “What’s wrong?” Why are you doing that?”
“Huh?” Shelley quickly let go of her hair. “Oh, bad habit.” Her throat tightened while her face turned ashen.
The waitress brought a steaming loaf of bread to their table, and began rattling off the daily specials.
That’s what did it.
Shelley stifled a scream and scrambled for the door—
Phagophobia–a legacy from her mother.