Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction Friday: The Conclusion of Inconclusive Evidence

This month’s flash fiction challenge was inspired by Cast Into Ruin’s song, Inconclusive evidence.

inconclusiveevdiendence
Walking down the alleyway with flickering neon lights glistening off of the wet street I feel frustrated and angry. It’s been an entire week since I’ve been satisfied with an outing, and I’m hoping tonight will break my losing streak. I brush past a small crowd of college drunkards and inhale their scent as they stumble past. Sweat, alcohol, and axe body spray wafts behind the boys making my nose crinkle. I’ll be needing something a little fresher to satisfy my needs.
I spy the emergency exit of the night club, foolishly propped open for the the staff to take the occasional smoke-break. With a causal glance down the alley and up towards the street I slip in through the doorway. Inside I can already hear the pounding thud of the music’s heartbeat luring me in from the blackness of the back hallway. I enter the main floor and scan the room. There’s a good crowd tonight, the floor is a swelling sea of bodies. Across the dance floor I spot my prey. A trim looking guy with tanned skin and dark hair, swaying just outside of his cluster of friends. I thread my way through the crowd and eventually sidle up to the glassy-eyed fellow. With a smile I grasp his hand and lead him on a teasing dance through the throng of people. A light touch grazing his neck, the swaying of my hips pressed too close, and he is entirely enthralled. I lean in close and press my hungry lips to his throat, reveling in the beat beneath his skin. By this time I have maneuvered him to my favorite, poorly lit corner of the club and pull him onto the stained leather couch with me. I tangle my fingers in his hair and press his lips against mine and I release. My nails shoot out rooting themselves in his scalp and his eyes open up wide. His attempt to scream is quickly choked off by the swarm of scarab beetles flooding into him from my mouth. My skittering horde begins to consume him, starting with the back of his throat and quickly burrowing up and into his brain. Seconds past and his struggles cease. His body relaxes into my arms and my beetles bring back to me the delightfully tender morsels of his brain.
When the last scraps have been delivered to me, I retract my nails, and release his cooling lips from mine. I shove him backwards into the couch and admire the sprawl he lands in. Just another brainless drunk to any who glance his direction. I stand and stretch, enjoying the feeling of being full and saunter my way back through the crowd to find my way back out into the night.
~by Jeanette A.
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