The negotiation (flash fiction)

They stood over my body, inspecting my parts as if I were a common place whore. I’ll have them know that I’m top of the line. At least I was two years ago. Since then, plenty of beauty’s have come out and I’ve all but been forgotten.

“I’m not paying that.”

“Well I’m not going any lower, you want her, that’s the price.”

“But she’s not new.”

“If she were you’d be paying twice this.”

I sighed in disgust as they bickered and it was all I could stand not to  just burst then and there. But as they finally settled on a price, and signed the paper work, I came across a better idea that got my gears all a flutter.

As the oaf who’d insulted my age and activities, body and features, slid home that evening, I contented myself with plotting his demise. I thought all night, planning and resigning myself to my lot in life, I said my last prayers and lay in wait.

Sure as day, he returned for another ride the next morning and he’d only just begun when I swerved out from under him and we both crashed and burned in the gorge below. I sighed contentedly every foot of the way down.

 

 

 

 

So here’s today’s post. Much shorter than I normally do, I enjoyed it and I didn’t feel the need to add any more. In any case I’ve never written a lot of really short pieces in such quick succession and I’ve realized that I have a fondness for killing someone in each of these little glimpses. Haha. I think it’s probably because I don’t really care about the characters but meh, still fun to write. Have a lovely day everyone. ^__^

Waiter’s note (flash fiction)

The sunlight warmed my sweater and distracted me from my meal.

 

“I’m sorry what were you saying Elizabeth?” I said, taking off the offending garment.

 

“Hmm, oh, I was just saying that Jordan’s having a sale at her boutique. Thirty-five percent off, can you believe it?” Her eyes gleamed as she excitedly forked another bite of her salad with more zest than I could ever give it.

 

Glancing down at my half eaten Alfredo pasta, it was painfully obvious to me why I looked my age and Elizabeth still had the air of a thirty something. Hell half the time, she acted like she had when we were in college. All partying, men and booze.

I sighed in disgust and pushed my plate forward an inch. “So what did you buy?”

 

“Oh sweetie, what didn’t I buy.” She laughed and took a swig of her wine. “Honestly, I was unstoppable. I’ll have to show you the loot when we stop by my house.”

 

I looked up startled. I didn’t know that she planned for me to come over today. Sometimes I’d visit for another glass of wine after our weekly meal, but it had been a while since we’d done it regularly. “Oh I’m stopping by? I thought that Charles would be home?” Charles was her newest boyfriend in a very long line of boyfriends. Elizabeth changed men like other women changed underwear.

 

Elizabeth scoffed, not noticing my disinterest in having her latest size 6 haul dangled in front of my size 12 face. “He’s long gone, so I’m sure he won’t mind a bit.”

 

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head in disbelief. “He’s gone already. You only started dating him two weeks ago. What happened?”

 

“Oh you know, the usual.”

 

I lifted an eyebrow and pulled down the other, watching her intently. There was certainly a usual for Elizabeth’s habits with men and I wouldn’t considered it the usual for anyone else.

 

She let loose a bright smile, her cheeks flushed and she tilted her head away. Her eyes flashed toward me once but she couldn’t continue to meet my eyes.

 

Dear god, he must be under age, I thought. Or near it at least. She’d never played coy in all the years I’d known her. I hadn’t even know she’d had the ability to become embarrassed. What the hell?

 

Before I got to push her for more details, the waiter appeared with our check. I found myself staring at the small slip of paper within the black leather envelope. Beneath the bill, he’d written a note and when I looked up, he was already hurrying away to another table. The tiny black script was cramped and jerky, as if the young man had been quite nervous while writing.

 

As my brain deciphered his handwriting, I understood less and less of what he was saying. I couldn’t seem to think straight and I suddenly felt a chill wash over my body. Tugging on my sweater, I glanced up at Elizabeth. She was busy powdering her nose and I could see that she’d already payed her bill.

 

Anger tore through my chest in waves as I looked at the note again. It read.

 

Your husband ate here last night with your friend. It was cozy. I’m sorry.

 

The small slip on which it was written, was a photocopy of a bill, dated yesterday, baring my husbands signature. There was a salad.

 

I screamed inside my mind, but then all of a sudden Elizabeth and I were walking arm and arm outside of the restaurant. Splitting into our separate cars, I followed her home for that extra glass of wine.

 

I don’t remember the drive so well, or even coming inside her house. But I do remember the look on her face before I suffocated her with her newest knit sweater.

 

Apparently sometimes it pays to be the fat best friend. She couldn’t fight me at all. Bitch.

 

Now to find my husband. 

 

 

So this was my flash fiction for yesterday, unfortunately I didn’t have an opportunity to type it up until this morning. I find the prompt at Writer’s Digest like usual, and it was under the same title as this.  I’ll be back in a little while to post today’s fiction. Hope you enjoy.

The Skeleton in the closet (Flash fiction)

The skeleton in my closet was a big one. Huge even. In fact I don’t know how he even fit in my closet, he was so rotund that every time I tried to close the door, I could hear the scraping of his bones against the wood.

;

I just knew that no product existed on the face of the planet that was strong enough to get the stench out of the carpet. Or the stains for that matter.

;

Let’s just go right ahead and say that I didn’t plan on using that closet for any other purpose ever again. Although honestly, how many dead guys can a girl expect to stuff in her closet in one lifetime?

;

Vic, had been my old boss. One of many I suppose. And over the years he’d rubbed me in all the wrong ways.

;

Literally.

;

He had sticky fingers. Always on the hem of my skirts, or sketchily grasping my shoulders in an odd sort of pat on the back that was far to friendly. Clearly, I hadn’t appreciated it.

;

The other managers were never so awkward toward me, and a few of them I considered to be personal friends. But they’d come and gone for one reason or another and in ten years of service, the only constants in our office were me and Vic.

;

If the pay hadn’t been so good, and the prospect of finding another job so daunting, I might have left, but there just isn’t a lot of call for corporate assassins these days. Though considering our business, Vic should have known better. Then again he wasn’t the sharpest blade in the place.

;

Last week, he’d finally made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Clearing everyone else out of the office without my noticing had been impressive on his part, but it gave me an advantage too. No witnesses.

;

One more brush with his sticky fingers and soon his sticky insides were dripping out over our cream carpets.

;

Years of excellent customer service had taught me how to make his last moments as memorable and well, as painful as possible but soon he was dead and I had a mess to clean up. Nothing that good ever lasts forever right?

;

A bottle of ammonia and club soda later and well, most of the mess was gone. Though the largest piece was currently rolled up in some plastic sheeting that I’d nicked from the supply closet. It served the same purpose now as it did in the field and I have to say, it was awfully nice of Vic to piss me off in the office. Everything I needed was right here.

;

It took some maneuvering but I eventually rolled him and his plastic cocoon onto some rolling office chairs that I’d hastily duct taped together. And off we went. Down the elevator, into the parking garage and off to my car.

;

Returning the chairs, and setting the office back to normal, dawn was unfortunately on the horizon when I finally got home. Tapping my fingers on my steering wheel I decided that I didn’t really want my car to stink so, into the hall closet he went.

;

Sadly the plastic didn’t stay on so well and he’d leaked around it during the night.

;

I’d spent most of the day considering where his final resting place might be and biding my time till dark.

;

Coffee in hand, I powered up my laptop and searched for something to cover up the stench of my closet.

;

Ten minutes later I had the name of a near by shelter and had called ahead for my pick up in the morning.

;

Glancing out at the setting sun, I gulped down the last few drops of coffee and opened the closet, his stiff legs creaking at the lack of support. Gazing down thoughtfully, I nodded to myself. Yes, a cat box should do the trick.

;

Well, here’s today’s bit of flash fiction. I hope you all enjoyed it. I just giggled my way through it and thoroughly enjoyed writing it. So. Yep. Happy October 2nd and happy scribbling.

Oh also, I forgot to mention that this was once again a prompt from Writer’s Digest.

Kidnapped (flash fiction)

Sometimes when you wake from a deep sleep, your entire body lingers in the place of dreams, and moving beneath the covers of your bed, is like pulling taffy from it’s loom.

 

This was not at all like that.

 

When I awoke, it was the sudden burst of chilled air from beyond the hall which called me forth from my stupor. The slamming door was only added for good measure.

 

“What the hell were you thinking? She wasn’t supposed to be here yet.”

 

“It’s not like I had a choice. There were too many spectators to just leave her in the car. Besides my end of the bargain is done. If she’s here too early for your liking than you can bring her back.”

 

“You know very well I can’t do that.”

 

“Not my problem.”

 

Not a problem indeed. I didn’t fancy myself to normally be anyone’s problem, but as I listened to their conversation and took in my surroundings, it became quite clear that I didn’t have all the facts.

 

For starters, My body had been tied to the chair where I currently sat with thin ropes which crisscrossed my legs and chest, and were wound quite tightly around my hands and feet. Fortunately I could still feel all of the tiny digits, so my circulation wasn’t impaired but that by no stretch of the imagination meant that I was the least bit comfortable.

 

My heart raced in my chest as I tried to remain as clear headed as possible, but the stark wooden cabin around me offered no clue as to why I was here or who my kidnappers were. In fact the last thing I could remember was stepping outside my apartment and then. Nothing. A dark gaping hole in my memory.

 

The weight of the ropes on my chest made it harder to breath, and within moments I started to quietly heave. I hadn’t had an asthma attack since childhood but there in the cold, pine scented room, only feet away from two total strangers, tied up and confused, the familiar clenching pulled at my lungs and made tears spring to my eyes.

 

Shaking, I closed my eyes and prayed, let this all be a dream. A nasty nightmare.

 

“So are we going through with this or not?”

 

“Yes we are.”

 

“Well, you better get your shit together cause she’s not gonna be out much longer.”

 

“Don’t you think I know that asshole.”

 

My eyes shot open and I sucked in a sharp breath.

 

I knew that voice.

 

“Don’t call me an asshole, asshole.”

 

“Oh sure, brilliant remark, just what I’d expect from someone of your type.”

 

It couldn’t be him. But the holier than thou airs he put out couldn’t be anyone else. What the hell was going on?

 

Suddenly, I wasn’t nearly as scared as I should be, I was pissed.

 

“My type? What the hell does that mean? In case you hadn’t noticed you’re the sick fuck who wanted to kidnap his own wife. I wouldn’t start pointing fingers if I were you.”

 

“Ex-wife. And sure whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

Their joined foot steps echoed in the hall, and all that anger drained away as fear filled me so completely that I forgot to breath.

 

So when their hands finally touched me, I’d already died.

 

Inside at least.

 

So that was my first bit of flash fiction for the month.  I found the prompt on Writer’s Digest. 

You wake up shackled to a chair and can’t remember how you got there. Two voices are talking. You recognize one of them. 

It was supposed to be 500 words or less and it wound up being 570ish so meh. I’m kind of bad with word counts. In any case, if you have an constructive criticism please feel free to leave it in the comments. Happy scribbling. 

 

Flash Fiction #1

Call me maybe.

That’s all I said. All I could think of as he walked away from me. Perhaps forever. I couldn’t stand the thought.

Didn’t want to contemplate it. This wasn’t happening.

Rain slid down my face, clear as glass, cold as snow. And I stood there unmoving. Unwilling to breath, as my heart broke into a thousand pieces.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This wasn’t how I’d imagined my junior year. Or us.

And now he’d gone behind my back and it was over.

Forever.

He never turned around. Not once as he walked the long, flat road back to his house, and I watched the whole way. Listened to every whack of his skater shoes on the paved side walk and still, he never looked back. Not once.

I couldn’t breath. Even as my lips parted and I dragged the air into my lungs, I couldn’t fill them enough. Every molecule seemed to little and then, I burst. Fat, hot tears streaked my cheeks, mixing with the rain.

Everything was Gray except the bright red tunnel through which I saw him walk away from us. From me.

Even if he came home, we’d never be the same.

And there was no telling if he’d even come to his senses. It might have already been too late. I wasn’t sure how it all worked, but I couldn’t process anything anyway. Right then my knees gave out and I was left gasping along the side of the road, listening, to those horrid whacks, getting softer in the distance.

What can you do?

What can you do when you’re sixteen and a soldier’s girl?

Just some random flash fiction before bed. I found a prompt online whose instructions were “Write some fiction where the first sentence is <call me maybe>”… and then I did.

I apologize.

At any rate I’ll be back tomorrow with some other kernel of wisdom. Don’t fret and happy scribbling.