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The Bachelors

In my hands is a rose that I’ve worked so hard to care for during my stay in Deathrow. As Christmas draws near, five hopeful bachelors want me to give one of them my precious flower and spend the rest of my life with them.

Unfortunately, I’ve been given five of the worst possible men to choose from. It’s as if Max had scraped the bottom of the barrel to find these people.

The first man is a grumpy old fox that won’t stop talking about his kids. He’s aged poorly down here and more than his looks have been taken from him throughout the years.

His stamina clearly isn’t what it used to be. The last time we danced, I had to take the lead for most of it. If we were to tango again, he’ll have a heart attack before we even make it back to my cell’s bed.

The next potential suitor is a complete clown. I’ve been with a couple of those before being sent here and I know how high maintenance they can be.

Clowns are so dramatic and demand so much attention that, by the time you get to be alone with them, you want nothing more than to smother their face with your pillow so they stop acting like a fool.

The third bachelor is a real daddy’s boy who has nothing in his head. He only sees me as a prize to score and doesn’t bother to use his thinking cap to figure out why I haven’t decided to take him up on his offer.

It’s because he hangs off the warden’s every word like he did with his dead dad. Since he lacks the brain to think for himself, he acts on behalf of a father figure that claims to be doing what’s best for him.

The fourth person is a complete unknown. A riddle wrapped in an enigma. While some women would find the idea of dating a stranger rather appealing, I know better than to be smitten over someone I haven’t met yet.

Whoever this mysterious individual might be, they aren’t going to win my heart by simply showing up. To earn my love, you would’ve had to approach me at your own free will, not Meadows’s. 

The last man that I could fall head over heels for is a known backstabber. He toyed with Jasper’s feelings before showing his true colors by crawling back to Max like a damned lapdog.

I don’t like men that toy with other’s feelings like that. Those kind of people are better off being stabbed through the heart and left for dead with nobody to mourn them.

If these five are the best the warden could scrape up, then I’m better off keeping my rose and continue caring for it by myself. Every rose has its thorns, and none of you are ready to handle mine.

Once you all feel the wrath of the praying mantis, the warden will be next in line to have his head eaten.

Love,

Miss Murder

Dahlia Black