A Short, Short, Short Story

In the last post I set a goal to write a piece of "flash fiction" each week - I find that's not quite as easy as it sounds. What a struggle to keep it short and sharp. Still I did come up with one this weekend - a rather grim little tale but I promise to lighten up for the next one!

CUTTER
“How you doing back there, Jen?” Her daughter had quit whimpering. That was either good or very, very bad.
Megan kept her eyes forward and away from the rearview mirror. She knew she shouldn’t be worrying about the blood soaking into the car seats but she couldn’t help it. How will I get the stains out? And what does that say about my priorities?
“You okay? If you don’t answer I’m pulling over.”
“Go ahead. What do I care? I didn’t want to come anyhow.”
Megan ran the tail end of a yellow at Boren Avenue.
“Are you all right or not?”
“Peachy. How much longer?”
“Not long if the lights cooperate.”
“You should have left me there.”
“Sure, that was going to happen.”
“Seriously, why bother? I’ll just do it again you know.”
“Look, what choice did I have? What was I supposed to do, leave you bleeding all over the kitchen?”
“I only agreed to come with you because you threatened to call the cops.”
“I wasn’t calling the cops. I was calling 911 for an ambulance.” She changed lanes, signaling a right hand turn. “What did you expect me to do when I find you sitting in a pool of blood?”
“I didn’t expect anything from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Leave me alone.”
Traffic had slowed to a crawl around a two block stretch of pothole repair. Damn, if Jennifer had let me call an ambulance we’d be there by now.
“What did you want anyway?”
“Can’t I visit my own daughter without ulterior motives?”
“For once, just give me a straight answer. What did you want from me?”
“I hadn’t heard from you since . . . well, must have been Christmas. I was worried.”
“If you were so worried you could have phoned.”
“Okay, so I wanted to see for myself you were all right. Which, as it turns out, you weren’t, were you? Cuts all over your arms and judging from the scars this isn’t the first time you’ve done this, Jennifer. Are you on drugs? Is that why you’re doing this?”
“Sure, blame it on drugs, Mother. That way you won’t have to deal with the real reasons your daughter cuts herself.”
“Now who’s not giving straight answers?”
“I’m not in the mood for this anymore.”
Megan followed the signs pointing the way to the emergency room, pulling the car up to the curb near the entrance.
“I won’t go in,” said Jennifer.
“Don’t be silly. You might need stitches.”
“I don’t have insurance.”
“They have to treat everyone who comes in.”
“I’ll go in if you tell me why you really came to see me.”
Does it matter any more?
“I’ve left your dad,” said Megan.
“Good,” said her daughter. “But you’ll go back.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you always do. You can’t get enough of the pain.”
Megan helped Jennifer out of the car, noting that the blood stains weren’t nearly as bad as she had imagined.
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