In the Woods
As we crossed the field and entered the woods the sky was silent. The day had been full of rain and the trees pulled the dampness close.
There wasn't much to say. I mean, no one wanted to talk about Frances Howard's murder, so we walked in silence. Up ahead just past the curve someone smashed a pumpkin against a tree.
They said there was nothing Frances could do when the murderer came to her house. She was old and could hardly get out of bed. But no one thought she would die like that. Her eyes carved into a permanent expression of fear. And we didn't know why.
But we had the fear. Everyone did.
We were to the other side of the woods now and could see the road ahead when a slender man with a razor smile stepped out onto our path.
We trembled.
"Even the young can never escape," he said, his black eyes biting our cheeks. Then he handed us a picture.
It was of Frances Howard. Dead.
We shoved our way past him and ran out to the road. We didn't stop until we got to town. It was hard for us to catch our breath.
Then we looked at the picture again.
And it was a picture of us. In the woods.
In the Woods was first published by Black Poppy Review
(c) Jan Darrow - from The Blue Hour: flash fiction - available on Amazon
photo: pixabay
(Written in the letter D. Just for fun!)
D is for Dead
It seems Dexter was a dancer, not a doctor. He followed me into donut shops and dollar stores. He spied on me from ditches.
I found him disgusting and desperate.
I called for a deputy, but the department knew about Dexter. They said he wasn't dangerous, just determined.
Still I dodged and deceived him. I wrote Dear Dexter letters. It didn't matter. He played dreamy ditties in my driveway at high decibels.
He declared his love for me daily.
I was distressed. I was disturbed. I drank decaf.
"I don't love you," I disclosed.
"You're in denial," he declared.
One day I dreamed he was dead. How he died was debatable, but my DNA wasn't on the gun.
I told them I didn't do it, but the next thing I knew I was on death row in Dallas on Dateline.
I was defiant. I defended myself. Is this democracy? Where is my due process?
Afterwards, in a damp dungeon, I was depressed.
Then I heard a ding dong. It was my doorbell. I was disorientated.
I opened the door. It was a delivery from Dexter.
"Was it only a dream?"
A disturbing dream I decided. Maybe I was drugged!
Then I opened the letter. It contained a document, a damp detailed dissolve...
Dexter had ditched me. He was now devoted to Darla.
(c) 2022 Jan Darrow / photo: Pixabay
https://blackpoppyreview.blogspot.com/2022/09/perdition-by-jan-darrow.html
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