Tuesday, July 29, 2014

My First Attempt at Flash Fiction

Wish Away 
by: DS McKnight

Breathing a sigh of relief, I lock the door and turn off the open sign.  It's been a long day and my feet are aching. I dread the walk to my apartment. It's times like these, I wish I had a car. Who am I kidding? At times like this, I wish I had a different life. Waiting tables and eating cheapo mac and cheese (that's right, because I can't afford the good stuff) isn't how I had envisioned my life. 

There was a time when I had dreams, dreams of life in the big city, designing clothes, attending parties. A party of five at table four is the closest I'm going to come to excitement. Shelbyville is the definition of boring. We roll up the sidewalks at sundown.

After I finished mopping the diner, I grab my purse and jacket. "I'm out," I yell to Jack, the short order cook. 

"Alright," he answers. "See you tomorrow." 

Of course you will, I think to myself. 

The crisp night air smells wonderful. It's a definite improvement from the stale, deep fried odor that permeates the diner. As I walk the short distance to my apartment, I let my mind wander. I imagine going out to eat and not worrying about the price of dinner. I wonder what it would be like to have my nails professionally manicured. I try to remember the last time I bought clothes that weren't from a bargain outlet. Lost in my thoughts, I fail to pay attention to the footsteps that are following me until it's too late. 

Hands grab me from behind. I try to scream but my assailant has muffled my mouth. I hear him laugh as he drags me down an alley. He whispers in my ear, "It's a shame to wish your life away." 

My blood runs cold. 

He continues, "But don't worry, you won't have to go to the diner again…" 

I struggle, trying to twist away. 

"We're going to have a little party and you're not only the guest of honor—you're the main course." 

His teeth scrap over my neck. I feel his fangs sink into my tender flesh. The pain is excruciating… and then, it's over and I'm no more.

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