TotenFolio

The hammer breathed in Snatch’s grip; it swayed back and forth and threatened to drop down onto Laura’s head at any second. The bright flashlight beam stayed focused on Snatch’s face, and the officer holding that flashlight continued barking orders.

His words could have been in a different language.

Snatch didn’t hear them.

He focused on Laura.
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I killed Mother.

Snatch’s words ran through his head as he spoke them. They seemed unreal, twisted, warped, surreal. He gagged and fought back the rush of acid up his throat. His tongue convulsed in his mouth.

“No,” he said, turning to look at the Reaper in his old farmer guise. “It’s not possible.”
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Laura’s eyes rolled back in her head after the gun’s barrel connected with her temple. It only took seconds for her temple to swell and change to a dark purple color. She stayed conscious and fought her eyes back into position, so she could look at Snatch.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked. Her voice trembled and weakly crawled forward.
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The world pitched and rolled beneath Edgar Snatch as he walked toward the narrow trees at the edge of the forest. He could feel Laura’s eyes on him, and rather than the glee he’d had moments before, he felt a deep dread seated in his stomach.

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Snatch blinked and squeezed his eyes shut until bright splotches of color splashed behind his eyelids. He sucked a deep breath in past his dry lips and forced his eyes open.

The Reaper, in his old farmer guise, looked at him.

“I just don’t know who Danielle is,” Snatch whispered.
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I regularly exercise my creative muscles with short flash fiction written specifically for the #fridayflash Twitter group. Here are the last three stories written, from my flash fiction blog, Telling Creative Lies.

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Snatch heard his heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t feel his heart thumping in his ribcage.

He truly heard it.

He looked at the back of his eyelids; his eyes, still closed.

A familiar smell floated under his nose and he swayed in his seat. Dizziness swept through him and made his brain feel as if it shifted from side to side inside his skull. The smell of Vodka, gin, whiskey and rum surrounded him.
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Snatch looked at the clock and watched the second hand twitch in place as the last charges of the battery died out, and the incessant ticktock gave way to momentary silence. His eyes shifted to the open door.

A bony, well-dressed woman stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. Snatch stared at her hands, knotted and gnarled, and covered in liver spots. He looked up at the woman’s sunken cheeks and hollow, brown eyes.
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Snatch sat at the oak table in the dimly lit room and stared down at the cold cuffs that pinched the skin around his wrists. He stared at his distorted reflection in the silver cuffs and curled his lips to show his teeth. He ran his tongue against their yellow surfaces and realized his mouth tasted stale.

The room, lit with only a single light bulb, was a conference room the officers had hastily turned into an interrogation room. Now, he was alone, while the police argued outside the room about who would question him.
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I started my first steady web serial, A Man Called Edgar Snatch, a few months ago to give this blog a steady stream of fiction for my readers. The Edgar Snatch story is now reaching its climax and the mystery is beginning to  reveal itself. Edgar Snatch’s world is unraveling around him and his crimes, delusions, paranoias and phobias are finally catching up with him.

Once A Man Called Edgar Snatch is complete, I will begin another web serial on this blog called The Fatcat Decision.

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