Flash Fiction: ‘Needledick’

cotton sewing needle eye Flash FictionAnother glorious Flash Fiction Challenge from your friend and mine, Chuck Wendig. The challenge this week is called ‘Song Shuffle Stories’. The challenge was to get your iPod or MP3 player or whatever, and let the fickle gods of fate and fortune randomly select a track for you. This track would be the title of your fiction.

I’m not sure whether the gods were trying to tell me something but the song it chose for me was ‘Needledick’, a B side to Placebo’s ‘Pure Morning’ single.

So, side-stepping the whole penis thing let me introduce you to ‘Needledick’.

***

Richard looked down at her unconscious body sprawled out on the floor, the chloroform soaked rag laid next to her. She was beautiful and he couldn’t resist opening her shirt to see her perfect breasts.

Her lips were so inviting and warm but he could never touch those lips, the lips of a whore, a slut. In the distance he could hear police sirens. He would have to work quickly; he couldn’t risk her waking up.

Taking out a small silver box from the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, he slowly lifted the lid. The needles inside were lined up like soldiers, the small reels of cotton hanging from the lid. He ran his finger over the needles. Which needle would he choose? Which needle would best suit her? He pulled the needle of choice from the silver box, followed by a piece of red silk thread.

“Red, for whores.’ He whispered to himself.

He threaded the silk on the needle and began his work. The needle puncturing her delicate skin easily, but she didn’t wake up.

‘There.’ he said with a satisfied flourish. ‘Now maybe other’s will be safe from you.’ He had stitched four crosses over her mouth, sewing it shut.

The police sirens seemed to be getting very close now. By the sounds if it there were a lot of people keen to get their hands on him, but he couldn’t afford to get caught, he had to be there to love her when she woke up.

He looked back down at her. All the women before her were meaningless, nothing more than a way of perfecting his work without damaging her, the perfect woman. Richard smiled at her young body; he had to touch her one more time. His hand reached out tentatively towards her as if his very touch could shatter her like ice, but she was warm and tempting.

The sirens became louder and then stopped. He heard the sound of car doors being slammed, and many pairs of heavy boots running up his stairway.

Richard stood up and turned to face the front door expecting the police to crash through it any moment, but the crash he heard was across the hallway and was followed by the muted sounds of FBI agents and a man yelling.

Richard chuckled to himself ‘Idiots! They don’t even know I’m here!’

When he turned around, she had stood up and was staring at him. She was trembling but her eyes showed hate, not fear.

“You stupid fucking psycho!’ she screamed through the stitches. ‘You didn’t check me for weapons’. She raised her arm up towards his head, and that was when he saw the gun. It was such a small thing that it scarcely looked as if it could kill a puppy.

‘I love you, you cannot kill me.’ Richard said smiling arrogantly.

The police weren’t far away when she proved him wrong.

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