W/C - 492, Horror Flash Fiction
|Rory willingly embraced the life of a vagabond. Sure, there were those who would dismiss him as nothing more than a passing tramp, but he felt himself to be with the more enlightened, the people who saw there was more to life than the home in the suburbs with the 2.5 children. Why keep up with the Smiths when you can pass on through and go where you please, nothing weighing you down?
Wilson’s Grove was a nowhere town on the Eastern sea coast, where Rory had been able to pick up work the fine people of the town wanted nothing to do with. He had some scratch in his pocket from a couple weeks’ work, and that was fine with him; he was going to drift further down the coast, pick up something on the water.
He was walking down the sidewalk when he heard a large crash from one of those suburban homes he’d been avoiding for so long. He ran up to the front door to find it locked as he rattled the knob. He laughed to himself letting go off it, realizing that it may not be the best idea to barge into someone’s house. He went over to a near-by window, and he pressed his face to it to figure out what was going on.
A woman ran into the empty kitchen, as if on cue from when Rory put his face against the window. Tears streamed down her face, her mascara a black-smeared mess. She was breathing frantically, her tear-stained eyes darting around the room in frantic search of something. Rory wondered if he should go back to the door and pound on it, let her know that she was not alone.
He froze, losing his thought, as he watched a bulky man enter the room behind her. The grin of a maniac distorted his features and spent a chill down Rory’s spine. He knew what the woman was looking for now; an escape.
He went to slam his fist against the window, and he stopped mid-swing. The man revealed a knife from nowhere, and he rose it up above the woman’s head. She turned around, and she let out a blood-curling scream, a cry of pure fear and anguish. The man showed no mercy, and the blade came down into her chest, a horrendous thunk that Rory could hear through the windowpane. Blood spurted everywhere, a crimson mist spraying the man as he cackled in mad delight.
Rory took a few cautionary steps away from the window. He couldn’t save the woman now, but could he avenge her? He could go to the police, and …
And what? The police weren’t exactly friendly to Rory’s kind. His distrust ran deep; he knew if he came forward there was good chance they would pin the crime on him.
No, Rory knew it was better to disappear. And, why not? He was a passing tramp, nothing more.