One Photograph, Two Points of View: Comparative Flash Fiction
Indiscretions by Nina D’Arcangela
Sitting on the deck together after dinner, I can’t help thinking about his whereabouts each Saturday night. How could he do this to me? I begin idly slicing my empty soda can in two with my steak knife. He asks distractedly what I’m doing. I simply glance up. His sneer as obvious as his desire to leave. With a final stroke of the blade, the can splits in two.
Are we done yet, his eyes question, his need to be away from me nearly palpable. Looking up from the sharp glistening edge of the bisected can, I silently decide. Yes, we are done. I reach over and playfully unbutton his shorts, reminding him of times past. Times before the Mercedes, before the Rolex, before the debt collectors; before he blew it. His breath quickens while he reaches for the cuffs we keep hidden in a small table on the deck. He then removes his shorts and lipstick stained briefs. Not my color, but do I really care?
As he slides his chair away from the table he leans back. I slip to my knees before him. I cuff his hands behind his back, his ankles to the legs of the weighty chair. He moans ‘Oh, baby’ as his eyes close, his grin widens. I then drive the razor sharp edge of the can into the sensitive flesh surrounding his groin. It slides in as smoothly as my teeth sink into perfectly set custard. The bulk of his hard-on slaps onto the deck as his eyes fly wide open. His scream, utterly soundless. Stuffing my linen napkin between his teeth, I see his sack barely hanging on by a strand. Flicking it with a finger, I look up and ask in a dispassionate voice, “Is any of my money left?”
All Rights Reserved © 2013 Nina D’Arcangela
Never Saw It Coming… by Julianne Snow
Was it wrong to imagine that infernal can being driven deep into his forehead?
I don’t think I can fucking take it anymore! All that infuriating sipping, the sucking of the last drop; it was enough to drive a woman to drink. But never from a can… Ever! Why won’t he simply give up; admit defeat? How can he possibly not know he’s done? Does he do it just to grate on my nerves? There’s a part of me that believes he does it for that very reason. He’s slowly filing down each of my nerves, waiting for me to strike out. I certainly will not disappoint him one of these days, but I need to bide my time. Stupid fucking ass is going to get what’s coming to him and I will be the one to give it to him! Oh yes I will, and I dare anyone to stop me. Hell. I don’t even care if I go to jail – it would be worth it never to have to hear that infernal slurp again.
The skin on the back of my neck crawls as I hear it again. My blood boils as my last nerve is frayed beyond repair. It snaps and so do I. I grab that fucking can from his finger and crumple it, hearing the tiniest of tinkle as the last of the amber liquid sloshes against the aluminum side. Fucking perfect! This time he really wasn’t done, but I don’t care… It’s going to be the last time he ever sucks the fumes from his beer again. My hands hurt as the sharp, pointed edges draw blood from my fingers as I shake the can in front of his dumbfounded face. That look… I want to savour that look. He never saw it coming…
All Rights Reserved © 2013 Julianne Snow
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