Until 2.5 hours ago I had never before heard of flash fiction. While browsing a fellow bloggers ramblings I came across Haley’s Flash Fiction Challenge and two glasses of wine later I decided to give it a go.
By the way the rules for the challenge were:
•You must start your story with the sentence:”She had been warned, but now it was too late.”
•The story must be 500 words or less
So here is my first attempt at Flash Fiction – hope you like it! (Please forgive me any typos and grammatical errors, as I said this went from concept to published in just over 2 hrs).
She had been warned, but now it was too late. The pain was almost unbearable. Her leg almost definitely broken. Her pursuer almost upon her.
“Please God, save me,” she prayed to a God she didn’t even believe in – which was when she really knew it was all over.
It was when the ‘What Ifs’ hit her.
What if she had listened to her mother when she had told her not to mix with that crowd?
What if she had jagged right instead of left, missing the oncoming car, leaving her femur intact and her only means of escape still available?
What if she had stayed on the main road rather than heading down this gloomy dead-end alleyway?
What if, what if, what if.
But she was here and it was over.
A shadow fell upon her as her pursuer appeared at the entrance to her hiding place. She hunkered down even further, her hands falling instinctively across her abdomen.
The figure loomed above her, dark and enigmatic – utterly terrifying. She could see the orange glow from the closest streetlight reflecting dimly off his teeth as he scowled at her.
“You know why,” his words were barely a whisper.
He was closer now; she could smell the stale fusion of bourbon and cigarettes on his breath. The recoil was automatic, but she didn’t get far – his powerful grasp around her upper arm held her firmly in place.
He was examining her, the draw of lust glinting in his eyes.
‘Oh, God no, not that… anything but that,’ the thoughts were so loud in her head she was surprised they did not cross her tongue. She needed to entice him to act – finish the job sooner rather than later.
She spat in his face.
It worked. The spark of desire was blinked away, the pure unadulterated hate had returned.
She was grateful that when he finally decided to act it was quick. She felt the sharp sting as the blade pierced the soft skin an inch below her ear. He drew the knife slowly sideways.
It was inexplicable given her current predicament, but her fear was gone. The visceral part of her brain realising that the fight or flight response was no longer required – it was too late for that.
The pain was gone too; there was nothing but the heat, the warm moisture that flowed down her neck and onto her chest.
The figure before her lowered his face towards hers, staring deep into her eyes. A single tear rolled down his cheek. If she had been capable of it she would have sighed as she stared back into those black, scarily familiar eyes.
Her final breath caught in her throat as he pressed his lips firmly against hers. As the wave of unconsciousness dragged her under she made a conscious decision to think instead of their first kiss and better times.
But the ‘What Ifs’ got her again.
What if she had not fallen pregnant with another’s child?