Survival of the Fittest. Flash Fiction.

Diana leaned against the wall, her breath came in great gasps. The smell of blood was thick and heavy in the air, she could almost taste the coppery tang on her tongue. The man, or what was left of him, was crumpled on the ground, parts of him were scattered around the alley, scraps of fabric were pasted to the wall with blood and gore. Diana was shaking, she felt light headed and a little nauseous. After a few minutes Diana’s breathing slowed and she stopped shaking, she stood from the wall and looked at herself, her coat has splashes of blood on it, but it was dark and she didn’t think anyone would notice. Her gloves glistened in the low lamplight, carefully she stripped them off and shoved them into her pocket. She took one last look at the pile of gore and then she left the alley.

The walk home was nerve-wracking, every time she passed a person she expected them to scream or shout. Once inside she stripped off and hopped into the shower, once she cleaned and dried herself she dressed into clean clothes. Out in the back garden she quickly started the fire pit, she waited a few minutes then threw on her jacket and her jeans, the top was salvageable at least. She watched the clothes burn until there was nothing left. She sipped her glass of whisky, feeling the warmth of it travel down her throat and through her body. It really was helping to settle her nerves. She hadn’t lost control like that in a long time, not since she had been a teen. The man had grabbed her, dragged her into the alleyway. She didn’t know what exactly he wanted from her, but she could guess. He had a knife, pressed into her neck, she felt a flash of sharp pain as it bit into her skin, then things became a little jumbled. She wasn’t sure but she thought she ripped out his throat first, it would explain why there were no screams as she tore the rest of him apart. She took another sip of her drink, she felt no guilt for what she had done, it was survival in its purest form, but she was still worried. What if someone had seen her? What if she had left evidence behind? She took another drink. She could always claim ignorance to the whole thing, say that he had grabbed her and she slipped away. After all no one would believe that she was the one to do that to him, she was a small woman, it looked as though she would struggle to carry anything remotely heavy, never mind being able to tear someone apart. Diana drained her glass and stood, she raked the dying embers then poured water over them and went inside.

In the kitchen she poured herself another drink and started to prepare her dinner, reheated spaghetti. She ate quickly, barely tasting the food, once she was done she tidied it and went to bed. There was no point in worrying about the man’s body, if the police started asking questions she would deal with it then. After all she’d never been caught before, why would this time be any different? Sure this one had been an accident, but he was still a bad guy and bad guys got what they deserved in the end.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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