After not posting anything for nearly a fortnight, here I am posting twice in a day.
I follow Chuck Wendig’s blog ‘Terrible Minds’ and his latest Flash Fiction Challenge tickled me. ‘I want you to take your story and it must begin with a dead body. That’s it. That’s the only stipulation. In the first paragraph you must introduce a dead body.’
So here’s my short and not-so-sweet offering on that theme:
THE FINAL STRAW
The blood didn’t look any different to cat blood. Don’t know why I thought it would. He lay on the ground in front of me, eyes closed, looking for all the world like he was taking an afternoon nap in the sun. Except for the blood under his head, running downhill on Old Shoreham Road toward the gutter.
I poked him with my toe, my shoe pressing into his body, by chance disappearing into his trouser pocket. Nice trousers, black, smart. Well, not so smart now. They were dusty from the pavement, and starting to soak up the blood. But they’d been nice when he put them on this morning. I knew that because I’d been there. Felt him leave the bed, the mattress dipping and recoiling as he moved. Offered my face for a kiss, watched him go into the bathroom and close the door so he could shower, shit and shave in privacy.
He’d dressed for work with care, black trousers as I said, white shirt, red tie, black jacket. It was pretty much what he was going to wear to our wedding next week. Oh, I’d better ring and cancel the caterer. I can use the flowers though, they’ll be handy for the funeral.
I straightened up and walked away, reaching underneath my jacket to tuck the crowbar into the back of my jeans.
He won’t leave the aviary door open again, so his bloody cat can get in to kill my finches.