Best served cold

Flash fiction entry. Under 300 words using the words: headache, straw and needle.

The man sitting in front of me is unrecognizable. I’m told it’s him, but with a black pillowcase over his head, there’s no way for me to know for sure. His head is lolling forward and his hands are tied behind his back. He is propped on a white plastic chair. The chair sits on a layer of straw, some of it tinged with shades of red.

“Go ahead, ask your questions.”

This sentence comes from the shadows. The words betray an accent, probably Kentucky or Tennessee. I’ve never seen this man.

I’m uncomfortable. I’ve waited for this opportunity for three years and now that it’s here, I’m frozen. I suddenly feel cold, a draft. I reach up and touch the scar on the back of my head. I run my fingers along the three inches of raised, stiff skin.

“Do you know who I am?”

The words come out of my mouth but I don’t recognize the voice. It’s weak, afraid.

The man’s head raises slightly but he says nothing.

“Answer her.” Commands the voice from the shadows. Unlike mine, this voice is strong and forceful.

I shiver.

“Yes.”

The response comes from the man in the chair. His voice is raspy and weak, but there is no mistaking it.

I double over and vomit onto the straw. When my stomach empties and the gagging stops, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve. My mind is racing and I have a splitting headache.

“So, does he get the needle?” Asks the voice from the shadows.

“Yes, the needle.” I hear myself say in a voice that’s strong, angry, vengeful.

I touch the scar again and walk up the stairs. My family needs me back.

I never think of the man again.