Flash Fiction Thursday–The Kitchen Pantry

I participated in the challenge: Pick Your Opening Line on terribleminds.com


The challenge was to pick an opening line that someone wrote the week before and make a story out of it. I picked the line:

Someone once told me bourbon was great for removing blood stains.


The Kitchen Pantry

Someone once told me bourbon was great for removing blood stains. After much experience, I have to say that I respectfully disagree. Cola does the best work in my opinion. I looked to my left to ensure the two liter still sat next to me on the pantry shelf. Of course, I knew it was there, but everyone has things they’re OCD about, and that happens to be mine.

Kelly informed me that James would make his Wednesday pit stop any time. I looked at my watch and saw 1:02pm—two minutes later that his ETA. Kelly also told me that his assistant Blair would be with him, as always.

Typically when a suspicious wife hires me, she wants the mistress dispatched, as well. Yes, it’s better for business—I charge ten thousand extra, but it complicates things too. I always inform them that killing the mistress puts her as a number one suspect right away, and they usually back down. However, Kelly wanted something more. I want her to see it, she said when we met the week before. I want it to scar her memory forever. That’s what happens when you mess with a married man.

James strolled through the front door at exactly 1:04. I couldn’t see him—unfortunately, the kitchen pantry didn’t open toward the front door, but the two voices were unmistakable.

I checked again for the red two liter bottle, and for the tenth time, found it in the same spot I left it two hours before. I looked to my weapon and saw the ever-so-comforting red eye staring me in the face, indicating that the safety was off.

The two stumbled into the kitchen, clasped in each other’s arms. When I popped out of the pantry, I saw James hard at work, trying pull the buttons on her shirt apart without ripping it to shreds.

Neither heard the squeak of the door’s hinges. Neither heard my footfalls as I made my way closer to the two. Blair did, however, notice the shine of my chrome .40 caliber Glock. Her scream did nothing to break my concentration. The bullet entered James’ temple as he turned to face what the woman screamed at. Blair fell to the floor, still screaming with a hand over her mouth.

I brought my index finger to my mouth. “Shhhh,” I said, then put one more hole in the man’s head. Blair quieted at the sound of the second bullet.

I turned to Blair. She stared back with wide-eyed terror written across her face. “Phone please,” I said.

“Ye—yes ma’am.” Her voice shook as if she were shivering, but I didn’t acknowledge her fear. I grabbed the black iPhone out of her hand and smashed it under my boots.

“Look. You can’t go around tramping it up with another woman’s man—got it. Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn. As a female, I’d say that James deserves what he got, agreed?”

Although I could tell Blair didn’t want to, she nodded.

“Get the hell out of here.”

Blair did as I asked. When she closed the front door, I walked into the pantry once more. I used the coke to get the blood splatter off of my new jacket.


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