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The Unearthing

ConstructionConstruction Worker:

He returns to the worksite after dinner. He’s going solo tonight. No one else wanted the overtime. That’s fine by him. He’ll take it all.

He turns on the floodlight then climbs in the backhoe, spending the next four hours prepping for the foundation to be laid this week.

Unknown:

I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t know where here is. I only know I’m buried in dirt and the rain is pelting the ground above me.

There is no escape.

Housewife:

She takes her coffee out to the balcony and leans on the railing, surveying the construction next to her building. Large drops fall from the dark clouds.

Here we go again.

She settles onto the chair to watch the rainfall, cradling her mug in both hands. The rain gains momentum, doubling in an instant. Another downpour in the last eight hours.

That giant hole they prepped last night is going to fill with muddy water.

Something long breaks the surface of the water. She peers closer, but can’t make it out. She picks up her cell and opens the camera, zooming in on the object.

She drops her phone and knocks over her coffee as she scrambles out of her chair.

Unknown:

I’m free.

 
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Posted by on October 31, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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The Heart of the Matter

Jerm 2The sizzle of meat hitting the hot cast iron skillet triggers a gratifying sigh from her. It’s been so long since she last treated herself.

A year, if I remember correctly. After packing up Max’s things. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Later, she pushes the empty plate away from her, leans back in her chair, and closes her eyes, sated. Nothing other than heart meat makes her feel this content after a meal.

She loves slicing it up in steak-like portions and marinating it overnight. Sometimes she searches for new recipes online. Food bloggers are embracing the consumption of organ meat more and more.

Variety is the spice of life.

She clears the table and washes dishes while singing along to Jagged Little Pill, playing on her docked iPod. Alanis’ album helped her cope after a difficult break-up and it always made her feel better about herself.

Rick was the first man she shared a house with, even if it was a rental. She knew he was going to ask her to marry him. She waited for it like a hungry pet waited to be fed. Then one day, she came home after rounds at the hospital to find her possessions on the front lawn.

Men never seem to understand me anyway. Closing themselves off once I open up to them.

She dries her hands on a towel and adds it to the ever-growing pile of towels in the laundry room.

I’ll start a load after I clean up downstairs.

She descends the stairs to the basement. Opening the door at the bottom, chilled air rushes out and a shiver of excitement courses through her.

The overhead lights flicker on. Ten glass cases, coated in frost, line the right wall. She strolls by, giving each case a light caress as she passes. She stands in front of the last one, her latest acquisition, and rubs the frost away with her hand.

It was chance, or luck, or fate. One of those. Maybe all of them.   

Rick came to the hospital and she watched from a distance, never letting him spot her. She followed him when he left, to a bigger house in a better neighborhood than the one they once shared.

His frozen face stares at her, contorted in the agony of the moment life left him.

I killed the others and ate their hearts before they could break mine. But I took great pleasure in ripping out Rick’s, like he did mine years ago.

©Debi Smith, 2014

 
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Posted by on October 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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The Chase

Chocolate, Sunset, Moon 020

Photo by Debi Smith. May not be used without permission.

The knife tip buries into the wall next to my head as I rush around the corner. I fly down the steps; no time to check which of my tactical knives he threw at me. I jump the last few steps then throw the door open. A shiver runs through me as the frigid night air wraps around me like a cold, wet towel.

I run down the street. I know he’s coming even if I can’t hear his footsteps behind me. I can’t risk precious seconds to peek over my shoulder for his position. I keep my eyes ahead, searching for a sign of anyone home in the houses on the street.

Every window is dark.

The rumble of a car engine comes from behind and I drift to the side of the road. A white vehicle, some kind of cross between an SUV and mini-van, speeds ahead; then the rear tires lock and slide to a stop, the car now broadside.

I halt in my tracks. The driver is in full view, staring at me through the open passenger window.

Him.

I backtrack in stutter steps.

“You can’t escape me Aryn.” His dark eyes narrow and his right arm moves as if he is changing gears.

The van makes a grinding noise like old gears straining to work. Instead of reversing, it tips to the passenger side, rolling towards me.

What the fuck?

My feet refuse to move. The roof of the car is inches from me, ready to take me down and press me under its weight.

Dammit, Aryn! MOVE!

I dart to the front of the vehicle, safe from its current path, and lock eyes with him. The man who claimed to love me and now, will do anything it takes to kill me.

Upside down, he points his SIG Sauer P229 at me. My heart leaps into my throat and I take off to my right. A pop sounds out followed by the breaking of glass. Pain lances through my hip, rendering it useless. I start the descent to meet the asphalt below.

I gave the fucker that fucking gun.

©Debi Smith, 2014

 
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Posted by on October 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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