Happy Friday! It’s time for another installment in Frisky Friday Flash Fiction. You know the drill. I provide a picture and the first lines of a story (300 words maximum). You provide the rest. I select the best and post it the following week.
Let’s look back at last week’s story:
“Sleeping with Death”
Did he forget I’m still here?
It was a first date, a blind encounter. He said I was pretty, that he liked my sparkly dress and skinny heels. I stripped for him. He liked the lace thong, too.
Where the hell are my clothes?
And what the fuck is on my arm?
Slowly, I sit up.
“It’s about time you awakened,” the voice booms out of the darkness.
“Forgotten about me already?” The hint of a smile is in his tone.
I rub my forehead and swing my feet to the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember much about last night. Like your name.”
“People call me many things. Those closest to me call me Az.”
“Okay, Az. What happened to me last night?”
“Close your eyes and I’ll help you with the details.”
It was an odd request, but I didn’t see that I had much choice sitting in a strange room wearing nothing but a man’s T-shirt.
Something stirred in my mind. It was as if someone pulled out a set of those building blocks kids like to play with. One by one, they stacked up re-creating the missing parts of my memory.
It was late when I left the club. I stood beside my car and fumbled for my keys.
A warm breeze kicked up behind me. When I turned, the most handsome man I’d ever seen stood there.
We ended up in a room, maybe this one, where he fucked me all night long.
The memory faded as I felt the mattress dip. Opening my eyes, I saw the man from last night. But it wasn’t his handsome face nor the jagged scar on his cheek that stunned me.
It was the appearance of six feet of black gossamer wings behind him leaving me speechless.
And now for this week’s:
I told him not to underestimate me–no one fucks with my man but me.
People have a tendency not to believe things until shit happens. Bet he’ll take me seriously now.
[Your turn. Finish the story.]