Here's another Friday short story. Beware. It's a scary one :).
The prompt that inspired this story was: An evil speck of dust kills people in a flower shop. How do you stop it?
Wearing a ski mask, this big dude barged into the flower shop and lifted up an empty jar. "This is for not having my flowers ready for my mom's birthday," he yelled and shattered the jar on the floor. As far as I could see, nothing came out of it, but the man bolted out.
I had been giving my customer back her credit card when all this occurred. Still holding the card between us, the customer and I shared a perplexed look.
"Okaaaay." The customer took back her card.
We laughed, but mid-chuckle the customer began convulsing. Blood spurted from her eyes onto my shirt as she fell. The other customers freaked out when they noticed.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" I didn't know what to ask in this situation. I eased around the counter to check her pulse. There was none.
A speck of dust floated up from her cheek and flew onto a man coming to help. Just as it touched his nose, the man convulsed and died. His head smacked so hard on the tile, it gushed blood.
As the customers ran screaming from the store, I backed against the counter. The dust speck floated, carried by the whims of the air conditioning.
"Mr. Thomas," I yelled towards my boss' office. "We have a problem." I scooted away from the speck on my butt, too terrified to risk getting touched if I stood.
"What's going on?" Mr. Thomas entered the front room and blanched when he saw the bodies and blood.
"Do you have a DustBuster?" I asked. He was a neat freak. Surely he had one.
"What?" He looked down at me like I was crazy.
Pulling him close by the shirt, I yelled, "Do you have a DustBuster!" Now was not the time for explanations.
"What are you talking about? Call the police!"
The dust speck approached. This was not how I wanted to die. I hadn't gone to college yet. The best years of my life were ahead of me. I pushed Mr. Thomas out of my way and crawled to his office. Still staying close to the floor in case it had followed me, I riffled through his cabinets. The DustBuster was in the lowest desk drawer.
I ran back to the main room just in time to save Mr. Thomas from dying. He'd better give me a raise for this. After I vacuumed up the evil speck, I shut it off. Resting the DustBuster on my shoulder, I smiled and said, "Who do you call?"
Mr. Thomas gaped at me. "The police, you idiot! Call the police!"
His lack of appreciation for both my saving of the day and 80s nostalgia disappointed me.
I hope you enjoyed it. Any critiques, comments, or prompt ideas are welcome!
You can also read this story and others like it on my website: /