At Friday’s writing group we were invited to write from a series of prompts chosen by us almost at random, using numbers from our lives. Each number being a specific phrase or word to be used in our short stories. First we chose our character’s name (mine was Candy), then the three prompts I had selected were “Paid him too much”; “Surprising her with a kiss”; and “Holding the rail”.
Below is my story … or rather ‘Candy’s’…
The rain lashed the window with an intensity that Candy still felt inside. The darkness out there reflected her soul tonight. The flashing red and blue lights no more than an interruption.
Sitting on the window bench looking out at the city the tears running down her face burnt as she remembered. She realised numbly she was still holding the rail in one hand whilst blithely tipping the bottle back with the other. She shivered slightly. ‘What had she done?‘ The thought reverberated in her head like a jackhammer. ‘What the hell had she done?’
It had all started out as a bit of fun chatting to the stunning redhead in the hotel bar. Candy loved to flirt, and was a flirt expert she liked to think. In most cases flirting was as far as it went so why did she allow herself to take it further tonight? She knew the reason only too well. Today was the anniversary.
After having had her third cocktail bought for her the redhead told her his name. “Charles,” he had whispered close and seductively.
“As in Aznavour,” she had joked when he had told her but he was way too young to get the reference.
Passing her the cocktail he surprised her with a kiss. She leant into it and responded much more than she had initially intended to . One more time she had had too much to drink and appeared to be losing her control. At the time she remembered calculating the difference in their ages. ‘Was she really old enough to be his mother?’ she had thought. ‘Where had the years gone?’ She knew the answer to that one too.
She was aware now that perhaps she had paid him too much attention straight away, or was that part of her plan? Her thinking was muddled still. Anyway he was stunning. She had been seriously flattered and thrilled by his attentions. Even when he had slid his hand up her thigh and under her skirt she hadn’t complained. Was that what she had wanted? She had chosen the skirt so she could be naked underneath. Did that mean she was ‘looking for it’?
Now here he was lying on the floor, her bedroom floor, inert. Candy looked at his body, all lust gone now. She looked back at the rail in her hand, casually noticing the bloodstains. She couldn’t really remember pulling it off the wall, although she had noticed it was loose when she had checked in. She remembered rushing into the bathroom, but was that the reason why? Did she only go into there to get a weapon, the handrail being just such a weapon, when he had pulled the knife, or had she muddled the order of events now?
The knife was the last thing she expected him to take out of his jeans. She vaguely remembered hitting him squarely across the temple with the rail, but hadn’t known that the force she had used would bring him down with one blow. The beating she had rained down on him afterwards was another lost memory.
Candy turned away from her crime blankly staring back out the window at the city below. She smiled. Here she was in another strange hotel and she’d done it again.