Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge (Titular Titles)

I've been meaning to take on a flash fiction challenge, so, I thought what the hell, just do it already and here is my first attempt at it.


When I read the list of titles to choose from, one just jumped out at me and I hope that I did it some justice.



Sit back, have a read and I hope you enjoy. 


Three Miles Left to Regret 
It wasn’t normal, I already knew that, but I just hadn’t been able to help myself, she had been beautiful. Ethereal, pure, her face had been the epitome of sweetness, a coy smile playing over her pretty, bow lips. Hell, even her smell virginal, her eyes had darted here and there, but always came back to where I sat at the bar. Had it only been a few short hours ago that the cracked leather stool with the metal legs creaked beneath me as I shifted and I scoped out the room for an easy mark?

There was that familiar tightening in the pit of my gut, a fire burning with the need to possess, to sully the pretty, little woman. I had a gift, it wasn’t much a one, never did me much good really, but I have to say it could be fun. Picking up my beer, the brown bottle shining with beads of moisture in the sweltering room as body heat built in the already humid night. Picking my way through the maze of tables; sidestepping bodies on the scarred, hardwood dance floor. No one paid attention, they were all lost in the closeness of their partners, arms clasping each other tight, whispered words exchanged only for the other. 

Ignoring them, I approached her, those eyes were deep blue, with hints of green, the color shifting with the dim light as she swayed to the sultry blues that drifted from the seen-better-days, jukebox. My steps slowed as I came to a stop, I wore my best trust me smile, and long, sweeping lashes fell momentarily to conceal her eyes, her chin dropped and she looked up at me from under lowered lashes. Her smile was sweet. Inhaling deeply I took in her scent, no perfume, just natural. She was so Good Ol’ American apple pie wholesome that I almost felt regret, almost.

“Now, Darlin’, don’t ya be getting all shy on me, I saw ya turning those pretty eyes my way, name’s Jo.” Extending my hand, my demeanor screamed no danger, it didn’t hurt that I was a woman, other women never paid attention to warning signs when it came to someone of the same gender. 

“Sally, nice to meet you, Jo.” She took my hand, I cradled the delicate appendage in mine, my fingertips stroked the tender, warm skin of her wrist and my thumb stroked over the fine, pale back with just the shimmer of blue veins that spoke of the warm, blood that flowed through her. By the end of the night, I would merely need a drop of the warmth. I lifted her hand to my mouth, brushed my lips softly over her flesh and resisted the urge to taste, a feast for the senses. 

You see I’m one of those creatures that goes bump in the night, but I don’t hang out under beds or in closets, and I don’t do this for the thrill of terror, no, my need goes deeper than that. The woman was all sweet promises, one of those saving themselves for marriage types. My smile almost turned cold and calculated before I steeled myself, regained control. I left marks that never washed off, memories that faded, although, never forgotten.

It could have been easy enough to just whisper a few words and have her fall to her knees to do my bidding, and I wish it as easy as that. Gentle coaxing, seduction, in order for her to see things my way it had to be done. Just as always everything would fall into place. Patience a virtue of which I possessed few if any. I pulled out her chair, motioned for her to sit, first step always conversation, a back and forth exchange where I appeared interested, engaged. The urge to roll my eyes grew strong.

While I appeared to listen to her every word, hang on the menial details, I really muster the energy that her diatribe seemed to leech from me. Inserting the appropriate comments where needed. A smile, even a laugh. Little Sally relaxed, her upper body leaned farther across the table. It was all so easy, too easy, disappointment warred with need, I had already invested in this charade too much to find another quarry.

Lowering my voice I leaned in until my face mere inches from hers, looking deeply into her eyes. “Why don’t we go back to my place or yours? Some place quiet we can talk. Just talk.” My smile widened, trust me repeated as a litany in my head. She stiffened, darted those unusual eyes about, there was a moment of panic. Shaking her head, her fallen smile returned to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Sure, it’s getting late, but I like talking to you. My place is only about three miles down the road. You can follow me if you want.”

“I can do that.” I pushed to my feet and extended my hand, waited for her to take it. She hesitated, but finally placed her slender fingers across my palm. We stopped at the bar, I paid the burly bartender for her tab and mine. Once outside we went our separate ways, I opened my door and slid into the driver’s seat. The tail lights of her modest sedan brightened and I sit there thinking about the night ahead.

Three miles, only three miles laid between me and what I needed, I lifted my hand and lay my hand over the glass vial, crimson glowed within its confines. One drop, one single offering of blood sweetened by the raging of lust. The old witch had done me a solid all those centuries ago. Was little Sally’s regret building as she rethought her decision? I pulled out behind her, followed close, well, Little Sally only had three miles left to regret.


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