The Longest Night - published
“I’m hungry,” she licked parched lips.
“Order something, imbecile.”
She nodded toward her swollen hands.
He lifted the knife, swinging to cut them loose.
“Bloody Hell!” He slipped the phone from his pocket, slamming it on her thigh.
She lifted then dropped it—twice. Unbound ischemic hands felt like a thousand wasp stings.
“I’m watching,” he rifled through her lingerie—again—turned and faked a jab, guffawing when she cowered.
He paced, inspecting and sniffing trinkets on her vanity. Manic, while she dialed, feeling sweat collect on her forehead.
The line clicked, “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“Please, I’d like a pizza.”
(Published Week-9 / March, 2022)
She Loved Sin
She named him Sin. He’d been a naughty kitten. He disappointed her at first, adopting an orphaned mouse—purring as he hugged the creature to his bosom. He gave Mousey tongue-baths and shared nuggets of dry kibble with him, afterwards, urging him to drink water from a pickle jar lid.
Mousey’s adjustment took a while, him no longer violently attempting to escape the clutches of Sin. Sin yawned with boredom, and in one moment of irritability, chewed Mousey’s head off, proudly dropping the clumpy gore with its severed neck dripping entrails, at Samantha’s feet.
“Good boy,” she said, scratching his ears.
Flowers From the Old Country - published
Esmarelda prepared to deadhead rows of wilting narcissi, golden flowers originating from centuries-old bulbs once smuggled across a raging sea.
"Hey Granny, want some of this?" Riotous laughter along with clouds of skunky smoke erupted from open car windows.
She ignored the boys, continuing to pinch off the moaning heads of last year's menacing boys, placing them in a willow basket. She removed the glove from one hand and twisted off an ear-shaped petal, draping it across her deformed knuckles. The shapely hand of her youth appeared. A good batch.
She shuffled indoors, her basket full, to draw a bath.
(Published Week-11 / March, 2022)
The Chef’s lab was hidden in the basement of an abandoned building outside city limits. He was stealthy, stealing the equipment and dropping it in the basement before going home. One week a defunct fryer, the next, a slicer with serrated blades, and lastly, five-gallons of canola oil. The oil was tricky.
It was trial and error to mimic the perfect crinkle-cut fry. He’d gone through dozens of fingers to get the ridges just so. He ignored the screams as he went to work, first amputating fingers, then the fingernails. He took out the slicer. This might be the batch.
The Lesson - published
“We fly today,” Jay cheeped, grouping his fledglings on the broad oak limb, a short hop from the nest. They lined up as he spread his magnificent blue plumage and puffed out his chest.
Jay missed his alone time with his bride. It was time to dispose of this brood. He cheeped Introduction to Aerodynamics and Safety, keeping an eye on the backdoor to the human nest. The little buggers grew restless, flapping sparsely feathered wings.
“Glide to the ground when I say so,” Jay coached. The backdoor opened and four cats beelined to the tree.
“NOW! Glide,” Jay shouted.
(Published Week-13 / March, 2022)
Lisa H. Owens
Created for March, 2022 Black Ink Fiction's themed monthly 100-word drabbles
Stories Published: The Longest Night, Flowers From the Old Country, The Lesson
Nothing to fear but fear itself.
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