In a Red Dress and Alone

In this week's Flash Fiction Challenge, The Random Song Title Jamboree, a random song title from my music collection is the title for the story (although not necessarily the basis.  Please do enjoy:

In a Red Dress and Alone

   She stood there, listening to the conversations around her.  Alexis sipped her cocktail slowly, feeling more and more awkward by the moment.

   This was a new town, a new environment altogether.  A far cry from her hometown.  She had been given a huge opportunity with her first job after college, and didn't think twice about leaving behind everyone and everything she had ever known.

   She was excited at first when a coworker at her new job, Sophie, had invited her to her birthday party.  She had hoped Sophie would introduce her to some people at the party to help her get acquainted.  But once Alexis had arrived, Sophie was in her own little world, surrounded by her adoring fans.

   Being the life of the party seemed to be more of a priority for Sophie than making her guests feel at home, and Alexis couldn't be mad at her for that, could she?  After all, it was her birthday.  Alexis occupied her own little corner of the room while Sophie chatted and laughed with her circle of friends.

   Sophie seemed so perfect, with her full, pouty lips, her perky, firm breasts, and her hair that never lost its bounce.  She was one of those effortlessly amazing girls who never had to worry about getting zits on her perfect skin, or about knowing what to do in any social situation.  If there was a manual somewhere on how to handle social encounters of every kind, she had probably written all the current revisions.

   Everyone was so drawn to her, and not just at this party.  At work, she was always being praised for her accomplishments.  Upper management would flock to her desk, falling over themselves to compliment her latest project.  Alexis, who sat just a few cubicles over, would listen in as they waxed eloquent about how amazing Sophia was.

   And while Alexis always considered herself to be above petty jealousy, it was impossible not to feel just a twinge of it as Little Miss Perfect was being lauded as the Most Awesome Person of the Year by practically everyone around.

   And her birthday party was no different.  Alexis felt like she wasn't even good enough to be in this woman's shadow.  The moment she walked in the door of Sophie's apartment, which looked like it was decorated by Martha Stewart, herself, she felt inadequate.  Smiling faces emanated with forced politeness, but Alexis could tell everyone was wondering who she was.  Hell, these days, she wondered that very same thing, herself.

   And why did she decide to wear this red dress?  She had very little opportunity to wear it in other facets of her life, being neither appropriate attire for work, nor for grocery shopping.  It had a vintage style to it, with a square neckline that minimized her proportionate bust line, and a skirt that flared out and stopped right above her knees.  It looked so cute on the hanger, and nothing else in her closet seemed like the kind of thing to wear to this party.  And her shoes -- black patent heels that pinched her toes together and made her back hurt -- just looked all wrong.

   This was the first party Alexis had been invited to since she had graduated college.  It was probably safe to assume that there would not be jello shots or beer pong here.

   After seeing what all the other partygoers were wearing, the dress made her feel like a little girl.  Everyone else wore either black or blue, or conservative neutrals.  Most of the other girls had jeans on, and the ones who did wear a skirt or a dress wore something much more sophisticated and elegant than what Alexis had selected.  And the birthday girl, herself, wore a dress that made her look like a mythical water nymph -- with delicate fabric in a muted cornflower blue, softly flowing down her graceful silhouette and ending mid calf in an asymmetrical handkerchief hem.  Her short, graceful curls framed her beautiful, perpetually smiling face.  The more Alexis looked at her, the more inadequate she felt.

   The awkwardness was excruciating.  She concentrated very hard on her drink.  It wasn't exactly fascinating, but it was infinitely better than looking around the room and risking eye contact with strangers.  Alexis hated situations like this.  There were about a million things she would rather be doing.  In fact, if she weren't at this party, she would have been at home, cuddling with her yorkie, and reading.  It was a mistake coming here.

   She decided she would wait about five minutes more, speak briefly to Sophie, and get back home to her comfortable pajamas and a glass of wine.  Wading through the sea of strangers, she finally made her way to the birthday girl.

   "Hey, Sophie, I just wanted to tell you happy birthday.  I'm about to head out."

   "OK, I'll see you at work on Monday."

   Sophie barely acknowledged her, before going back to her circle of admirers.  They all whispered and giggled together as Alexis stepped out.

   She breathed a sigh of relief as she sat in the driver's seat of her car and closed her door.  She was going back to her fortress of solitude, to bask in the glow of a new book.

   Back at the party, a very shy and very awkward young man sighed as he stared into his beer.  He could barely contain his disappointment.  He didn't know anyone there, and he was just about to muster the courage to speak to the pretty girl in the red dress.  But before he even got the chance, she quickly made her exit.

Some Things, Once Smelled, Can Never Be Unsmelled

I haven't done very many Flash Fiction Challenges lately because I'm doing JuNoWriMo, and writing a fabulous Texas-themed zombie novel.  I decided to take a break to do this week's challenge, The Dead Body, which involves a dead body in the very first paragraph.  So, without further ado, here's my morbid tale.

Some Things, Once Smelled, Can Never Be Unsmelled

   A barely putrescent corpse, yellow and grey and crawling with maggots, lay on the cold cement of an abandoned basement.  Its inanimate body seemed at home here, having already been given over to the darkness.  Cockroaches, flies, and spiders had taken over, the only signs of life in an otherwise lifeless place.  

   Cobwebs stretched from the ceiling to the rotting, abandoned furniture that had long been reduced to rusted, moldy pieces of cushion and wood that, along with the decaying human body, served as a collective buffet for the creatures that lived here.

   The smell that overwhelmed the room and seeped into every porous bit of material was a powerful mix of copper, rot, and a hint of sweetness that could inspire nausea in the strongest of stomachs.   

   A real estate agent named Carla gagged upon entering this room, her indulgent lunch from Panera Bread preparing to make an encore presentation to the world.  The creamy, golden yellow soup of broccoli and cheese made a grand exit in the most explosive projectile manner, mixed with pieces of lightly toasted (now soggy) ciabatta bread, thin-sliced lean roast beef, and a wonderfully nutty artesian Swiss cheese.

   Carla doubled over, her throat and nostrils burning intensely from the stomach acid that came up.  She grabbed the rail and tried to take the next step down.  Her Louis Vuitton heel hit a part of the step made slippery by the putrid sludge that had just erupted from her mouth.  

   As she lost her footing and grabbed on to the rail, it ripped away from the wall.  She fell backwards, and in trying to catch herself, sprained her right wrist as she tumbled to the floor.

   She looked up, her Nordstrom St. John Collection royal blue shift dress torn and covered in vomit and a thick layer of dust -- this room had about thirty layers of it on any given surface.  She tried to stand up, and her left ankle collapsed underneath her as she screamed in pain.  She looked down to see her ankle, swollen and misshapen, and a deep shade of purple.  

   Carla closed her eyes and tried not to panic.  She took deep breaths and calmed her mind.  She looked around for her cellphone.

   It must have fallen off of me when I fell down the stairs, she thought.  She forced herself to stand up, using the bookcase behind her to keep her balance.  This bookcase was not bolted to the wall, and quickly came crashing down on her.  A cockroach that was crawling across the top shelf fell onto her face, then quickly scurried off.

   She screamed, and shook her head in a panic.  Once the bug was gone, she closed her eyes and shuddered, disgusted.  She kept her eyes shut and took deep breaths to remain calm.  She envisioned a beach with white sands on a sunny day, matching the rhythm of her breath to the imaginary tide that rolled in and out.  

   Last week, this house seemed like such a good deal.  She bought it at auction for a fraction of what she planned to sell it for.  Including the basement, there were three stories of space ready to be remodeled.  She had yet to have it inspected; she just wanted to look around and see what she was dealing with.

   Carla tried to push the bookcase off of herself, but it was too heavy.  She forgot that she had sprained her wrist, until she tried to use it and it hurt like hell.  She groaned with pain.

   She blinked back tears as she looked around the room, and finally located her cell phone.  It was just a few feet out of reach.  As she tried to stretch, to pull herself out from under the bookcase, she saw what was just beyond it, and what was the source of the awful smell that caused her to lose her lunch in the first place.

   The cell phone was next to the hand of a dead body that was buzzing with flies.  Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed to be mocking her, with its hollow eyes and a smug smile that stretched across its dead face.  

   She couldn't reach the cell phone, but if that corpse could just come back to life, it could call someone for help.  She was almost desperate enough to ask it.

   No, that's nonsense, she thought.  Keep yourself together, girl!  There has to be a way out of this!

   If she couldn't get help, then who would find her?  No one knew she was here.  On a whim, she had stopped by to check out her new flip house after her afternoon appointment had cancelled.
   She wondered how long it would take for anyone to find her body.  If she didn't make it out of here alive, the office would simply assume she quit, and replace her.

   She was single; the only one who would notice her absence at home was Melisandra, her Maine Coon.  She hoped her landlord would come by to check in on her, and rescue the cat before she starved to death.
   Carla closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.  Suddenly, she could feel a huge spider crawling up her leg.  Unable to move, she started to panic.
   Vain attempts to get herself out from under the bookcase only resulted in more pain.  And the only ones who could hear her screams were the creatures that would soon feast on her flesh.
   A new dawn, a new day.  The sun was bright and shining, illuminating a beautiful beach, covered with white sand that was gracefully kissed by clear blue water.  But none of that mirthful sun made it into the dark, damp basement, where a skeleton sat within reach of a cell phone.  It stared with unblinking eyes at a barely putrescent corpse trapped underneath a bookcase, yellow and grey and crawling with maggots.

Toonces' Last Wild Ride

This week's Flash Fiction Challenge is about car races, so naturally I had to go off the beaten (and tire-tread laden) path.  (Wayyy the fuck off.)  Please do enjoy.

Toonces Last Wild Ride

   He was at the end of his nine lives.  And they had all been good ones.

   Toonces, the cat who was world-renowned for his unique driving ability, was reflecting on his former lives.  All the female cats he loved, his owners who were entirely too trusting, and the time he went full-rebel and had to serve time in the slammer.

   And then, there was Spunky, his old rival.  He never knew what happened to Spunky.  One day, Toonces was enjoying a spirited game of table tennis with Spunky, and then, he just left and never came back.  His owners wouldn't tell him where he was, either.

   Toonces had driven over many cliffs in his former lives.  And they were all spectacular.

   His owners, God rest their souls, died a few years ago.  Toonces ran away after he saw them being removed from the house.  He didn't know what would happen to him if the authorities found him in that house, what with his arrest record and all.

   Alone, he walked the streets at night.  He followed the smell of warm food wafting behind restaurants.  Toonces caught the rats and birds that wandered in the alleyways.  He even found a friend who fed him every night.
   The Old Lady was a kind and loving woman.  She would put out warm milk and cat food out every night to make sure he didn't go hungry.

   Even though he no longer lived under a roof, Toonces lived like a king.  Every need the beautiful black and white Tabby had was seen to by The Old Lady.  She would even let him in during nights that were cold or extremely wet.  He would always be gone by morning, though.  He was done living the domestic life.

   Toonces was enjoying things as they were, until one fateful night.  He walked down 6th Street in the early evening, as he always did, and smelled that something was terribly wrong.

   He crept up to The Old Lady's doorway, and saw her lying in a pool of blood in her own living room.  Death had already taken her in his final, cold embrace.  Toonces lowered his head in respect for his one and only friend.

   Suddenly, he heard a crash in one of the back rooms.  He slinked inside to investigate further, and followed the source of the noise.

   Two large men dressed in black were rifling through her things.  They didn't belong there.  He recognized the smell -- he had smelled them on The Old Lady's body as she lay dead in the other room.  They were her killers.

   Toonces hid, watching The Intruders.  He knew he needed to avenge The Old Lady.  And he knew exactly how.

   He followed the men as they snuck out of the house.  Creeping along the rain gutters outside, Toonces could hear them bragging in the alleyway a few blocks away as he grew closer.

   "Man, that old bitch was loaded!"

   "Wait 'til we cash this shit in!  We's gon' be rich!  I don't know 'bout you, but I'm gon' git turnt up tonight!"

   The only "turning up" this bastard is gonna do is "turning up" dead, Toonces thought to himself as his eyes shifted from left to right, surveying the area.

   A 2015 Ford Cobra, jet black with lime green leather interior, pulled up to let The Intruders in.  The driver laughed as they told him about The Old Lady.
   As the car started to peel off, a beer bottle hit the windshield, causing a small crack on the passenger side.
   "What the fuck!"  The driver screamed as he slammed on the breaks, put the car in park, and stepped out fully prepared for a fight.  "Brad, if that's you, you better come out and face me, motherfucker!  I'm gettin' real sick of your shit, fool!"
   Toonces pounced.  With his jagged, untrimmed claws, he slit open the driver's jugular vein.  The driver screamed and fell to the ground as blood spurted from his neck.
   The Intruders were too busy smoking a joint in the car and laughing at each others' jokes to notice what happened.  It wasn't until Toonces started driving the car, erratically, that The Intruders noticed anything was off.
   "Yo, Andy!  Where'd the fuck you learn how to drive?  You been drinking or somethin'?"
    Toonces turned around to look at the pothead murderers, a menacing gleam in his eye.
   The Intruders suddenly sobered up and screamed in mutual panic.
   "What the fuck?!?  What the fucking fuck?"
   A knowing smile crept across Toonces' face.  It was like all his previous lives had been a dress rehearsal for this one.  This was the one that really counted.  It was time for Toonces to meet his destiny.
   He pushed a brick onto the gas pedal and sailed toward the edge of the neighborhood.  Dodging cars and pedestrians, he sped through red lights and stop signs alike.
   A squad car turned on its lights and tailed the Cobra.  Toonces made no attempt to slow down.
   "Slow down and pull off the road.  This is the police," a loudspeaker blared.
   But Toonces didn't give a fuck.
   More squad cars joined in the chase.  Toonces swerved through a busy intersection, barely dodging an 18-wheeler.  The police car directly behind him was not so lucky, colliding into the truck at 85 miles per hour, demolishing the cars powerful chassis.  The other squad cars behind it had to swerve to avoid hitting it.  One ran into a nearby storefront, another slammed into a young couple on the crosswalk.
   Another squad car made it around and through the madness, and hightailed it for the runaway car.
   Toonces couldn't look back.  He had to keep going toward his fate.
   He turned onto the road leading to his destination.  The street ended at the edge of town, right before a sharp cliff.
   The Intruders were begging for their lives.
   "Please, don't kill us!  We'll give you anything!"
   "Yeah, we got diamonds and shit!  We'll give you whatever you want!"
   Toonces didn't have any need for diamonds, and their pleas only managed to disgust him.  Begging was for dogs.
   Racing past a trailer park, Toonces found a NOS button under the armrest.  Accelerating to a blinding speed, the car clumsily careened toward the end of the street.
   Toonces could barely keep the powerful car on the road.  It fishtailed and burst through a barricade at the end of the street.  Shards of orange and white-colored wood went flying.  A construction sign that read, "Dead End," made a few aerial flips before it finally landed next to the rotting remains of an armadillo carcass.
   "Damn," said a man enjoying a beer outside his trailer home.  He and his friend got a good look at the driver and his panicking passengers right before the NOS kicked in.  "That cat can drive!"

   "Yes, he can," his friend replied, spitting tobacco juice into his empty beer can as the car plummeted over the cliff and exploded into a ball of fire.
   "But not very well."