The Motel

“I am not staying here, honey,” you said, but I was thinking ahead. I felt the cold steel of the blade in my pocket. All I had to do was get you into that room, and then it would be too late.

“We’ll just check it out sweetheart.” The night hid my grim expression and my voice was calm and reassuring. I’d had lots of practice.

We entered and threw the bags onto the bed, the flashing red, white and blue lightbulbs of the motel sign highlighted unnameable stains on the colourless bedlinen.

“I’ll just take a leak,” I said, as I made for the bathroom.

They were far from famous, as last words go.

“Bye bye, honey,” I caught the laugh in your voice, but felt no pain as your bullet entered the back of my head, passed through my skull and embedded itself into the drab wallpaper.

No time to wonder why. No time for regrets.

Time was for the living.

Roger Shipp challenges us each week to write some flash fiction for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner with a photo prompt he provides and a few words that we are encouraged, but not obliged, to include somewhere in the story.

10 Replies to “The Motel : FFftPP”

  1. Very cool POV from the husband as victim. I wonder what he did to end up in such a dirty place to die? Have to say his wife is a psycho. Guys often say this about ex’s or etc all the time but this guy was the unlucky guy who really did end up with a psycho. Well told!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: