The Date

She raised her cherry Slushee. “To desire.” Her lips parted as she sucked the ruby liquid into her mouth.

“To desire,” he mumbled, fumbling with his own cup as they left the street vendor and merged back into the crowd enjoying the city’s nightlife. He could feel the stares. She was hard to ignore, with her long black hair, pale white skin, and flowing velvet cloak.

“So,” he ventured, “did you like the restaurant? That, uh, tartare, was it good?”

She smiled. “It was divine. I like my meat...rare.”

“Oh, uh, that’s nice.” He forced a laugh to relieve the awkward tension. It didn’t help. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you know, girls like you aren’t usually interested in guys like me.” He waved at his day-old beard and rumpled shirt.

“Don’t be so modest! You will see that you have much to offer me.”

They paused at the mouth of a narrow alleyway, washed grey in the dim moonlight.

“It’s a lovely evening,” he said.

“Oh?” She stepped behind him, melding with the shadows. Her teeth glinted in the darkness.

He reached into his pocket. “As I said,” he continued, whirling to face her, “girls like you don’t usually pursue guys like me.”

She lunged.

He plunged the stake into her heart.

“What a shame,” he deadpanned, slipping the stake back into his pocket and stepping over her body. “I felt a real chemistry between us.” With a shrug, he leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.

The gaping onlookers began to drift away, muttering unhappily. It hadn’t been one of Improv Everywhere’s better ideas.

Ω

Elizabeth Gallenberg is intrigued by the mechanics of writing and constantly searches for new metaphors to describe how stories work. She writes poetry and short fiction, gets hopeless crushes on literary characters, and sings to her cats.