I never know what to do with myself on a non-MasterChef night, but today I decided to write a very short story.
She stood at the end of the bed, glaring down at the sleeping woman, Katrina. Slinking around, she held a knife tightly in her hands.
Katrina began to stir, before slowly opening her eyes. She looked right at the other woman.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?” Katrina asked.
“There’s something you should know,” the woman said. Before Katrina could speculate, she continued. “My name isn’t Nora. It’s Katrina as well.”
Katrina sat up. “Ha, same name. I’ve always wanted to bang someone with the same name as me.”
Ignoring her, other Katrina said, “There can only be one.”
She pulled the knife from behind her back.
