Flash Fiction Urban Horror
Slicing through Loneliness
A Flash Fiction Story
Steven G. Mann
After three days of self-pity, I had shit, showered, and shaved, and finally escaped from my apartment.
I was being comforted by the warmth of the coffee shop and my steaming coffee. It began to rain.
"Can I borrow a cup of your loneliness?" she asked.
"I'm that obvious," I replied.
"Painfully," she smiled. Her fingers pushed back her thinning gray blond hair. She was drinking one of those foo-foo coffee drinks. "Join me", she offered the chair across from her. I joined her.
"What would you do with a cup of my loneliness?" I asked.
"Toss it down the sewer. A little less loneliness for you, me, the world."
"The sewer. I hadn't thought of that," I smiled.
"Let the trash and turds deal with it," she returned my smile. She held up her cup and we toasted. Her smile revealed a weathered face, fading blue eyes.
"I'm going to get some breakfast. Care to join me", I asked. She shook her head no. I didn't see her purse.
"My treat. I insist". She gave me a slow nod yes. I grabbed my cane and walked to the counter.
I returned to an empty table. I started looking around. Then I saw her standing in the bus stop kiosk.
"Here. I thought I had lost you", I handed her the warm, breakfast sandwich.
She took small bites.
"We haven't been introduced. My name's Dean," I held out my hand, "And yours?"
She put what was left of the sandwich in her tattered coat pocket.
The bus came around the corner. She looked up at me with a smile that slowly turned to a frown.
She handed me her coffee cup.
"It's not important now." The bus came to stop.
At first it was just a little push, near my sternum.
The bus doors opened.
Then the push became more forceful. I looked into her eyes. They looked empty.
"You getting on?" shouted the driver.
A deep, slicing feeling.
The doors started to close.
"Just a second driver," she shouted. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
One of her hands cradled my head, the other made a slow back and forth motion, making the blade slice through my insides.
"Now, lady," yelled the bus driver.
She sat me down on the bench.
"Kiss your boy friend bye, and get on my bus!" demanded the driver.
"I just need to button his coat," she replied.
She kissed me on the forehead and got on the bus as it eased into the crush of the morning rush hour traffic.
Chained lightening raced across the early morning sky. A second later a cannonade of thunder blended in with the sirens from patrol cars and an ambulance, which stopped in front of the bus kiosk. I was asked my name. All I could do was spit blood.