‘The Girl Who Walked In The Dark’ – a flash fiction piece

‘The Girl Who Walked In The Dark’ consists of 745 words.  It is not only intended to send a message about women and their role in society, but to reflect a moment in time and all the thoughts one might be thinking in a particular situation.  It does contain some ‘adult’ language, and violence, but it isn’t graphic thus I’ve deemed this particular piece a PG-13 rating.  Therefore I must ask that you proceed with caution, and understand that it is only fiction after all.

You can read the beginning of this award-winning tale here but to find out how it all ends pick up a copy of ‘Everyone Dies: Tales from a Morbid Author’ which includes 21 pieces of short fiction in which someone either physically, emotionally, or spiritually dies including never before published pieces like ‘After The Fire’ and fan favorites like ‘The Silencer’.  The collection is available on Amazon and Kindle.

 

 

 

The Girl Who Walked In The Dark

 

I’m not the kind of girl you mess with.

I’m Lisbeth Salander, Arya Stark, and Michonne all in one. Sure you’ll try to break me; maybe you’ll even think you won. Better men have tried, and failed. I’ll wait for my moment, the briefest instant when you have your guard down; that moment will be mine.

You’ll go to your local coffee shop, ask my accomplice: the preppy, twenty-something, blonde barista for the usual. Your eyes will glide across her body, leaving a layer of slime in their wake. Daybreak will blind you on your way out. You’ll take a sip of your double caramel espresso latte. It won’t hit you at first, the stale aftertaste that lingers on your tongue. Instead of requesting it to be remade, you’ll head to your car. Don’t want to be late to work. By the time you reach the car door, your vision is blurry. You’ll dig in your pocket, but you’ll drop the keys when your balance is off.

A small, fair-skinned hand will pick them up for you.

“Thanks,” you’ll say.

“Remember me?” I’ll respond.

You’ll blink.

Hard.

Trying to recall the face in front of you. It doesn’t matter though, because I’ll break your nose with my elbow before you can complete a coherent thought.

I’ll drag you to the back of your car, toss you in your own trunk, and silently thank you for the new car. Bands of sunlight shine on the blistering black asphalt, they’ll absorb your poisoned coffee.

You’ll wake up in the warehouse district.

Yelling.

Crying.

Begging.

You’ll run the gambit of human emotion thinking you’re alone, but I’ll sit in a dark corner giggling to myself, because no one can hear you over the sounds of downtown.

It will only take a few hours.

For you, it will seem lifetimes of agony.

For me, not nearly long enough.

 

In reality, military style boots, a skull t-shirt, and skinny jeans don’t make me tough. Besides I’m closer to Elinor Dashwood, Hermonie Granger, or Sansa Stark.

My favorite color is pink, my phone is filled with pictures of unicorns, and if adult women were allowed to wear a tutu to go grocery shopping, I would.

I scream when I see a spider. And I’ll make my boyfriend kill it.

“Real tough, babe,” he’ll chuckle. “Thought you were a badass, but you can’t step on a bug with those big ole boots.”

 

This story isn’t over yet-to read the rest of her wild night download ‘Everyone Dies: Tales from a Morbid Author’ on Amazon here

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