There has been a lot of interesting things on the writing front as the New Year opens up, which unfortunately has kept me from doing as much Flash Fiction as I’d prefer. In the long term, this will be very, very good, but it’s left less time for the regular postings. There’s been a chance to do the Mid Week Blues Buster a couple times, though. The prompts are good, and fortunately, we have most of the week to do it.
The last week’s prompt was a song called Runaway.
Finally, things were quiet and it seemed like my retirement was going to keep this time. No more did my bedroom look like an armed bunker, but I had actually managed to start up a collection of gnomes. Stupid things with big hats just made me happy, but not as happy as Thomas did. That would have been a life to stay in. Then these 2 “muggers” in the parking lot came after me. Muggers don’t have Yarygin heavy pistols or body armor. Now, looking down the barrel of a gun, instincts that been slumbering are waking up.
“Give me your purse and your phone.” One says over the top of his gun.
“Seriously? You can’t come up with a better act than this? I’m a little offended.” I say. I would put my hands on my hips, but they’re full of groceries and a cake.
“Fine. It makes no difference. Head or chest?” he shrugs, ignoring my posturing.
“Isn’t this a little public?” I ask, shifting my weight just a bit to free up a foot.
“That’ll be someone else’s problem, as long as you’ve been neutralized.” he says in a calm confident voice. It’s easy to be confident when you outnumber and outgun your enemy. Just the way I like people to see me.
Nodding, I pivot to the side, forcing him to shoot wide, while shoving the cake into the face of the other mugger, blinding him. Twirling, I catch the gun in the talkative one’s hand with the handles of the plastic bags, tangling him up and pulling his gun toward the ground. A quick chop to his throat and he crumples, and another to the chocolate villain and I’m all free and clear.
Efficiently, I toss their bodies into the trunk of my car, the groceries in the back seat, and drive out of town, finally breaking into tears about 30 minutes later.
Now, I don’t even know the face that looks back in the rear view mirror, tearstained with ruined makeup. Don’t get me wrong, but under the fake eyelashes, dye, and colored contacts, there’s still that little girl who wanted to join the Peace Corps to see the world so long ago. She never would have believed that she’d get sick of moving from place to place. Back then, though, she didn’t have as many scars.
So now, the back seat is full of groceries, the trunk with a pair of bodies, and me once again on the run.
Thomas will probably think that I’m just a runaway, though, and will never know how much he means to me. The flowers, the cards, the time spent and the innocent openness. He never needed to know about my past, and was just content to be part of my life.
That’s all gone now, and I’m back on the run. It’s not the first time, and until I get answers about who wants me dead, it probably won’t be the last. This time at least, I’ve got ice cream, and that’s a good start.