Prompt: Two childhood friends meet up after twenty years. After several drinks, one admits to having murdered several people.
I knew today was going to be a bad day. I knew it the moment Mr. Magic Eight Ball told me that all signs pointed to death 6 times in a row even after I gave it one hell of a shake. Not to mention, isn’t 6 the devil’s number? I wish I could have just stayed home, but how in the world were you to convince your boss that a plastic ball filled with inky liquid just predicted your death? So I dragged myself out of bed, brushed up and went off the work highly alert in case any idiot decided to swerve their car into mine and send me to my impending death.
Thankfully, I survived.
I survived work as well.
Yes, there were more mountains of papers than usual, but I didn’t die. No paper cut that wouldn’t stop bleeding, no accidental death burns from the coffee machine. I left work in triumph because I must have escaped my death, which also gave me the bright idea of getting a drink for defying the death gods.
And so here I was drinking, for the third time in my 20 some years of being alive.
“Excuse me mister, would you mind if I joined you?” I looked up with tap on the shoulder, surprised to be staring at the face of a lovely young lady. If I were not so drunk, I would have said no.
“Of course.” I stared into that perfect almond face, those puckered red lips and sparkling hazel eyes. Her hair draped across her shoulders in dark brown waves.
I felt like I knew her from somewhere.
“We know each other.” She said, breaking the silence.
“Remember that next-door neighbor you used to sell lemonade with?”
She broke into a smile.
I froze for a moment, not knowing what to say. As a socially awkward nerd, Shelly was the closest I had to a childhood friend. She was the only person who could tolerate my ramblings of the universe. She took me seriously.
“What brings you here?” I asked. The last thing I heard of her was moving to Texas and then we lost contact. Her mother died when she was still young and her father… I never really did see her father ever.
“I was going to ask you that. I didn’t think you would grow up to be a drinker.” She laughed. “Care to share one with me?”
As the heavy head of a drunken man banged against the table, the woman sitting across from him finally sets her glass down, having not drunken a single drop. She slides over and slings his arm over her shoulder, half carrying him to an empty room.
She whispers only one thing in his ears as she unbuttons his shirt.
“You asked me what I do as a living.” She pauses for a moment. “I’m only continuing my father’s legacy.”