Fiction – Short Story: 30 MINS


If this was a thriller movie, they’d show happy close up shots — sunshine that’s a little to bright, a pair of scarlet lips laughing, green waves rolling— along with a melody of dread.

If that kind of scene shows up on HBO, I wouldn’t care if the movie won 100 Oscars, I would still run for the remote to turn it off. I hate it.

I loathe feeling like something’s about to go wrong and I have little control to stop it.

“Oh, come on, you’ll love it,” Harvey nudged my back.

“Don’t touch! My sunburn stings,” my voice came out softer than I intended.

“Relax,” he threw his arms around me.

“I’m fine,” I stepped back, my feet sinking deeper into the wet sands.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. Everything is on me,” Harvey inched closer, his breath smelled like vodka. He slipped a card on my fingers, “The room number is written in it.”

I started to regret choosing this spot. It’s near an elite seaside restaurant, a hip pub, a lux resort — everywhere, but too secluded. The only people I see were a couple being photographed by 3 people. From this distance, they couldn’t hear a scream.

“Look, I’m flattered. Thanks,” I forced myself to look at his I-haven’t-shaved-for-2-days-but-I-still-look-good face, “I already have somebody else.”

I stared at his drunken blue eyes — which suddenly stopped seeing. There was a sharp thing being pulled off his back. Harvey’s body fell lifelessly.

Oh god.

I bolted as fast as the sinking wet sands and waves allow me to. On my 5th step, I dared to look back. A man, carrying a bloody knife, was after me.

When I made it out of the beach, my energy was leaving me. I cursed myself for being so weak.

I forced myself to run passed a closed bar, an empty public swimming pool, a fancier private pool, then finally to Harvey’s room. I didn’t take a proper breath until I locked the door.

I lied down on the marble floor, steadying my breathing.

Instantaneously, a body pinned me down.

“You know. He’s filthy rich. People would be looking for him soon,” I laughed, “But, honey, I got us a private villa. We have 20 minutes max.”

Crime scene fetish

Share the ideas here:
Email this to someoneShare on LinkedInShare on TumblrShare on Google+Share on FacebookPin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *