Here is a story (or possibly story opener) I wrote in 2017.
Monster
She wished she could wear her heels. She loved the sound they made as they clipped down the street: an asphalt metronome. But she needed the quiet; he’d hear her otherwise. She crouched a bit lower next to the reeking dumpster. It was leaking something that would’ve made her crinkle her nose when she was younger. But not anymore. The foul liquid was nothing compared to what she’d seen.
Besides, it felt like foreshadowing. She couldn’t have written it better herself. Only the dankest, darkest spot for a monstrous scene.
People misunderstand the term monster, she thought idly as time ticked by.
Her thighs had begun to burn from her crouch, but she needed to be ready. His scraping footsteps started approaching from the street.
You see, her thoughts continued as she tightened her grip on the thin blade she kept up her sleeve, people tend to only remember the monsters that prey on sweet virgins.
One step before seeing her, she was on him. Her hand tightened over his mouth as his eyes bulged in confusion, his pupils blown from his favorite substance, his true love. She used his confusion to her advantage and slammed him against the grimy brick wall behind the dumpster, leaving his greasy hair with a layer of dirt and gods know what else.
Oh and those monsters do exist.
Everyone knew this truism, no one better than her. So many had confided to her over the years of what monsters, like the one in front of her, had done to them.
She knew she’s stunned him. Plus, he hadn’t seen the blade yet, so he didn’t know what was coming. “You don’t know me,” she whispered, “but I know you.”
His eyes remained clouded by his drugs and by his self-assured ignorance of monsters. That was fine by her, they’d snap into focus soon enough.
But people should remember that there are other castes of monsters.
Some monsters only act when called upon.
“Say my name,” she said in her roughest growl.
His eyes started to focus after the recognition of the phrase he’d said to all of his victims. His mouth began to struggle against her hand, fighting for either air or a defense. He’d have no need for either soon enough.
She met his gaze and with a practiced, elegant, flip of her wrist, she quickly drew the blade across his throat.
Some monsters answer desperate calls for aide, cries written in tears and anguish. Pleas for vengeance that only a monster would heed.
His blood was warm and pungent. It would mix well with the liquid oozing out of the dumpster.
She waited until he slumped down, joining the rest of the litter scattered throughout the alley, and finally stopped twitching. She cleaned the blade against his jacket, feeling no remorse.
Some monsters change the world for the better.
As she strode away from her deed, her recurring thought echoed in her head once more. Be the monster you wish to see in the world.
(Prompt by me but encouraged by Emily Kleeman)
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