Sunday, October 26, 2008

Bored at 4:45 in the morning...

So it's another boring shift here at the hospital.

It's 4:45am, and I've not had to tie anyone to bed, beat them unconscious, or hold themd own while the local police taser'd them. Sigh.

So, to pass the time, I was perusing my blogroll when I ran across Randal Graves post over on his blog - L'ennui Melodieux. he's rising to the challenge of another blogger (UberMilf)who's instituting a flash fiction exercise. Always willing to stretch myself creatively, I've decided I too would like to give it a shot.

If anything, it'll keep me awake for the rest of my interminable security shift.

To challenge myself even more, I will do a minimum of editing on this and post it as is. Here goes...

She was suddenly gripped by...

the realization that she was going to - undoubtedly - need therapy. 'How the hell did I get here,?' she thought as she wiped a shaky hand across her mouth. Thes nervous gesture spread the blood on her lips like a smear of heavy, red, clotted lipstick.

She looked down at the man that, only an hour ago, she had invited up to her apartment after a wonderous date that had included dinner, dancing, and a chaste kiss on her doorstep. He now lay naked on her bed, his eyes open and staring vacantly at the ceiling.

The decision to invite him up had been impulsive, and she knew she would regret it in the morning; but he had been so nice, and he was so pretty.

And his smell! She had spent the night luxuriating in the clean, manly scent of him. She remembered leaning close to him when they'd danced just to smell his white shirt and the irresistably male scent that he exuded. It was a heady mix of cologne and sweat and strength, if strength could have a smell.

She could smell his scent on her even now, but it was different now - mixed as it was with the coppery, wet smell of blood.

She sat back, laying across the pillows on her bed, as the sweat and blood cooled on her bare skin. Outside her open window, a horn blared angrily and - somewhere in the distance - she could hear music playing in the cool night.

"Yes," she said to the boy's dead body, "I'm going to need therapy someday..."

She sat up once again and leaned over, licking one of the jagged wounds on his body, "I'm going to need therapy to help me understand why I can never stay on a diet!"

And she smiled, surprised at herself.

She wasn't surprised that she'd killed and cannibalized her unsuspecting suitor... she was surprised that she'd done it so soon again after promising herself she'd show more restraint.


Randal Graves said...

HA! Now that's my kind of fiction. I'm a morning person, but I'm not sure I could work your shift. Yikes.

Be sure to let us know if you see any don't tase me bros.

pchak said...

"Graveyard shift"? I'm surprised you left that one hanging over the plate :-)