Wicked

Here is my latest short story called "Wicked." 

It is pretty short, so I hope you'll humor me with reading it. Thanks!

Wicked

LeAnn Stokes

The door closed behind her, and she stepped into the liquid light of the nearby streetlamps. Down the sidewalk, she tripped on a dislodged piece of concrete and let out a curse into the midnight air. Although she didn’t fall, the impact smashed her big toe, and the blood slipped from the cracked toenail onto her high-heeled shoes. She limped to a bus stop bench a few yards away and pulled her leg over her knee. The blood was already drying and clinging to her shoes, and a pool had formed in the arch of her foot. She looked back to the dislodged concrete and noticed a trail of blood drops and smears.

            She reached for her clutch purse and realized it was not underneath her arm but had fallen into the grass where she tripped. Putting both hands on the bench, she hoisted herself up with as little pressure on the foot as possible and limped towards the grass. She left a weaker trail as she struggled to somehow hop one-legged to the lawn. Losing her balance, she instinctively set her hurt foot down and yelped from the pain that shot up from her toe to her teeth. The pain prostrated her, and she crawled the rest of the way.

            With the purse in her mouth, she inched back to the bench and pulled herself onto the seat. When she looked down, she noticed that the rough concrete had scratched up her knees. She reached into her purse and pulled out her pocket mirror and some tissues. Her hair was not as bad as the make-up which ran amuck down her face like runaway graffiti artists.  She dabbed at her face and said as the tissue just smeared the make-up worse.

            She clapped the mirror shut and stared at the headlights approaching. She grabbed her purse and went to stand, momentarily forgetting her injury. The pain sent her back down to the bench, and the bus zoomed passed the stop. She yelled and flipped off the back of the bus as it disappeared down the congested street. She reached into purse and pulled out her phone. She pushed the power button over and over and then threw it onto the blacktop. As she cried, she pulled her mirror and tissues back out and tried using the tears to clean the make-up off her face.

            The sound of an approaching vehicle caused her to clap the mirror shut again. She rose slightly from the bench, but noticed that the headlights were too small. As she began to re-open her mirror, she saw her phone lying in the street. The oncoming car was quickly approaching as she pulled herself off the bench and started limping to the road. As she stepped onto the blacktop, the car screeched its tires and swerved in her direction.

           

He woke up in a cheap hotel as the sun illuminated the room in hallowed beams of dust and dead skin. The TV had been playing all night, recapping the same scene over and over. He had put a pillow over his head to muffle the noise, but he wanted to see the pictures. He saw her laying on the side of the road. Her body twisted; her mouth in a wicked grin.

            She was leaving him. She told him after they sat up naked in his bed. Her hair was disheveled, and she ruined her make-up with a sudden outburst of tears. She hated him. He could feel it. As she began to dress, he felt that even the scent of her clothing permeated the room with loathing. He asked her why. He accused her of cheating, and she laughed while buckling the straps on her shoes. She asked him if he had any cigarettes.  He opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out half a pack of cheap menthols.  She drew one from the pack and produced a small lighter from her purse. He took one as well and puffed in short, abrupt draws. 

            She was on her second cigarette before he began to plead with her. He suggested couples therapy or even hypnosis. After taking a long drag, she asked him if she could use his phone. He started yelling at her. He called her vain and selfish. He accused her of prostituting and giving him genital warts. The curl of her cigarette smoke wrapped around her like a shroud. He knocked the cigarette out of her mouth and let it fall to the carpet. He screamed and began to pound on the night stand until it cracked and splintered.

            She grabbed her purse and tucked it under her arm. He was still in bed looking at his hands, bewildered at the redness flowing down his arm. She side-stepped around piles of junk on the floor and went to the door. She turned the knob and stopped in the doorway. He looked up from his hands in time to see her standing halfway into the night giving him that same wicked smile.