Playing the Victim

Playing the Victim
by Robert Parrish


Maybe it was her perfume that aroused me so. Or perhaps it was the way her dress slowly drifted up her thigh as she wiggled in the seat next to me. Whatever it was that caused the visceral sensation I could no longer contain myself and had to finish this now.

“Megan, I don’t normally pick up hitchhiker’s but for you I made an exception. Your beauty, youth, and vibrant smile reminded me of my daughter and I couldn’t leave you on the side of the road for some long haul trucker to pluck from the worlds view. No, for you I felt a need to help.”

She thanked me! Oh sweet Jesus if only she knew what was to come next, she would be begging to get out of this car. Poor waif, so young, so trusting. I feel for her, I really do. But I must continue my work!

“Your most welcome young lady. Now, we need to stop for a few minutes so I can get us a couple of drinks out of the trunk. Are you thirsty?”

Of course your thirsty, I thought to myself. Stopping the car I unbuckled my seatbelt - always use a seatbelt! - opened the door and slid to the back of the car. Opening the trunk I removed the machete. A dark colored rust still clung to the blade since the last time. I should clean this one day.

“Megan? I need some help with the ice-chest.”

Dutifully she exited the car and came around back. I quickly drew in my breath when I saw that in her hand she had a small caliber pistol. She smiled, those beautiful lips curled so perfectly, and pulled the trigger.

Shocked I fell to the hard ground. She laughed. I cried.

That's irony.

#300 words