I told you guys I will be releasing a short story soon, and that’s still in the works. But until I have it all formatted and proper like for your viewing pleasure, here is a sample. It’s a dark comedy…the first I’ve written in the genre. I hope that I’ve at least done it with some tact.
Short, thin, cute? Yeah cute. Wanda judges herself while looking at her naked reflection. Some guy might have really enjoyed this, she continues, turning sideways to view her backside. Wanda stands there, half twisted, admiring her round butt, and wonders how painful an overdose death might be. Almost drowning is horrible…could an overdose be any worse?
The afternoon sun penetrates her sheer draperies and castes a glow onto her body. She marvels at the idea of her skin bursting into flames, as if she were a vampire; if it could only be that simple. Wanda often thought how wonderful it would be to have a guaranteed way of dying, like a steak through the heart or a holy water bath. But Wanda isn’t a vampire, and she doesn’t know of any guys that twinkle in the sun. She sighs.
A noise from the hallway breaks her blazing fantasy. It’s the familiar sound of a new tenant moving in. Wanda runs naked to the door and peers through the peephole. She sees a mattress, brand new, still in plastic, going in to apartment K. Next, a black leather couch, a large carpet, computer equipment boxes, and a microwave, all still in new packaging. Did this person just win the lottery or did they rob a bank? She becomes very eager to get a look at her new neighbor, and the longer she watches the more her face melds into the peephole. But all Wanda sees are logos on the movers gray T-Shirts: Paradise Movers.
In a little less than an half hour, the movers stop coming up to the second floor. Wanda, realizing she is still undressed, walks to the bathroom to grab her jeans from the floor. She shoves her legs in and rushes to her bedroom to grab the T-Shirt thrown at the foot of her bed. Dressed, she goes to the window and looks down to the parking lot. The moving truck is pulling away. That can’t be everything. Where is the tenant? What little that was carried in to apartment K was brand new, and after thinking about it for a second Wanda realized that the new tenant would only have a bed, computer, IKEA desk, microwave, coffee pot, and a brown box marked BATHROOM.
It was dark out now, and Wanda was way past spying on the new tenant. Her dinner was almost ready. Cooking wasn’t Wanda’s thing, but she could make a decent batch of spaghetti. She scooped out a large portion and plopped it on her only plate; she broke the rest from the garage-sale set she bought a year ago for a buck.
She ate in silence, no one called to interrupt her lonely dinner. No one ever called Wanda. Her co-workers stopped trying to include her months ago; they were fed up with her constant “not tonight,” or “thanks but no thanks,” or “ I have a lot of work to do at home.” They finally gave up, and now Wanda doesn’t even get the formal invite to the yearly Christmas party, a stamped invitation that used to arrive around December 15th.
She perks at the sound of a thud from across the hall, Is it the new tenant? and carries her plate to the counter, quietly setting it down. Tip-toeing up to the peephole, not blinking, her attention on the new neighbor rivals the focus of a hungry predator ready to lunge at its prey. He’s attractive, in that sexy-nerdy way that Wanda likes so much. His hair is dark and short on the sides, his clothes simple and his snug shirt reveals that he takes care of himself, not too buff, not too scrawny. Like Andrew Garfield! Wanda is excited, she just watched The Amazing Spiderman last night, for the millionth time. The handsome neighbor reaches into his front left pocket and pulls out a single key, no keychain. He holds it with a delicate grip and slowly slides it into the keyhole. She pushes herself away from the door in disgust. Stalk much Wanda? Again she is back at the peephole…eye pressed as close as it could be. She watches him open the door, bend down and pick up the BATHROOM box, and walk in, pushing the door closed with his foot, Wanda’s trance broken by the brushed nickel K in the center of his apartment door.