It’s weird. I have no real experience with drugs, but once in a blue moon they make their way into my stories. I’m not sure why. Well, in this case I know why. ‘Drug’ was one of the prompt words. But the second flash fiction story I wrote almost 5 years ago featured a cocaine theme. I have no explanation for that.
Except this. I’ve mentioned before that I agree with Stephen King: “We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.” Mystical baddies may or may not be real. (I have my own personal theory on that. You’ll hear plenty about it soon enough.) But whether you believe in zombies, vampires and werewolves or not, there are most certainly monsters in the world. All too often, addiction makes a mess of people’s lives. I’ve seen it first-hand. Perhaps that’s what I’m dealing with in stories like this one.
Every story is a glimpse of the author’s soul–assuming he/she has one. (Tacky, but true.) A pivotal turning point for me as a writer came when I decided to allow my personal views, even my personal pain, to impact my fiction. It’s probably a little deep for an intro to a 100-word story, but I encourage you to do the same. Whatever the genre, it’ll make your stories better.
The prompt for this story is from The Prediction:
100 words maximum, excluding the title, of flash fiction or poetry using all of the three words above (‘drug’, ‘figure’ and ‘beast’) in the genres of horror, fantasy or science fiction.
And yes, I admit this story isn’t horror, strictly speaking. But then again, it is.
fresh out
Freddie smiled wide, blackened teeth framed by chapped lips. His bug eyes fell to her chest.
“I never said the ‘d’ word,” she said.
“You sexy beast.” He licked his lips. “I figured you to have drugs.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“You turnin’ away a customer?”
She ushered him to the door. “I’m turning away a problem. Out.”
Freddie lost it. He needed what she had. He turned, a knife in his fist. That’s when he saw the gun.
“Out,” she repeated. “One way or the other.”
“Aw, baby. Give Freddie some love.”
She pulled the trigger.
“Sorry. Fresh out.”