MicroHorror

The unyielding noise of the rowdy bar made Anna stagger backwards, head throbbing, skirt caught on the stool she had been perched on. A hand brushed against her shoulder but she jerked away, the intended comfort and pity burning her insides.

“You okay?” the man asked.

Anna shook her head and pointed to the small alcove at the end of the bar. “Bathroom,” she muttered, having learned from past evenings that the statement would keep most people in their seat. This was a ritual that, on average, she engaged in nearly three times a week. It wasn’t intentional. She didn’t start out wanting to be inebriated beyond recognition. But Death clung to her like a shadow, weighing her down until she could no longer escape the dark corners of her mind. This place, with its classic rock and cheap booze, provided a refuge, a moment’s peace where she couldn’t remember why she was so angry.

Moving through the crowd she felt the liquor swirl within her stomach. The hall smelled of urine and cheap cigarettes. Anna pressed her body into the back exit door, shoved it aside and stumbled over the beer can that served as a makeshift doorstop. Two men on folding chairs stared back at her in surprise. For a split second she hesitated. Then Anna gave a half smile when she spotted the silver flask perched on the lid of a trash can. Suddenly, it was in her hand. She took one deep swig and then another, the liquor searing her insides as she drank.

“Whoa there, honey,” the oversized biker said. “Slugs like that will kill ya.”

I’m counting on it, mister, a voice in her head whispered.

Anna tossed the half empty flask back at the man and continued walking. She had made the journey before; it wasn’t far. Tonight the alley was deserted and there was enough moonlight to see clearly in all directions. It was the perfect storm of sorts: Anna, preparing to outsmart fate, had planned it that way.

She continued walking, moving silently along the fencing until she came to the section of loose planks. Each one slid diagonally, creating a thin triangle that she could squeeze through if positioned just right. Once inside she crossed the gravel road and began walking up the grassy mound, to the tree by the dried-out creek bed. It was an odd thing, she pondered. A creek bed that was void of life, almost as if death refused to leave any aspect of nature untouched. Then without any warning or fanfare she reached her destination. It was a little anticlimactic, but that didn’t bother her. Instead Anna kicked off her shoes and sprawled out over the velvety damp grass.

I’m ready, she thought. Take me now.

As if he heard her silent command Anna felt a presence join her. She didn’t turn around. It didn’t matter how it happened. In fact, she paid good money not to know. She just wanted it to be over. She wanted to see him again.

Something latched onto her, yanking her backwards with a hunk of her ebony hair. Her whole body went rigid.

The knife was quick; it flicked across her neck, the mark of a skilled killer. She felt a piece of herself falling through the dirt, into the sealed grave below. When she settled, a decaying hand reached out to embrace her, welcome her. She clung to the dead man, her lover, and found peace.