Bad Sketch

Posted: February 13, 2014 in Flash Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction

Sketch followed her for five blocks before he made his move. She was jittery, grip white knuckle tight on her purse strap, so he knew timing was everything, but it would be worth it. The purse swung from her shoulder with some heft to it. She must have something good in there, he decided. Pigsticker cut the purse strap like shoestring. That was what he called his favorite knife, Pigsticker. She screamed once she realized what was happening. Sketch briefly considered sticking her too, cutting that sow open, but he needed the purse and what was in it. He needed his fix. The bitch actually chased him and she was no slowpoke. So he ran hard and didn’t stop for six blocks, cutting down sidestreets and alleys. Hiding in the trash strewn stairwell of an old basement shop, hands shaking, Sketch tore into the purse like some stupid kid trying to get at what was under his prom date’s dress. He was right, though, there was something big in here! It was hard, like glass. Maybe – – they found him. Sketch froze. Goddamnit, they found him! “Hold it right there,” the first cop said, gun drawn, eyes hard and mean, “You sure this is the guy?” The second one consulted a small spiral bound pad in one hand, “Yeah. Fits the description. Good thing we were in the area. Let’s hope he’s still got it.” Sketch knew he looked confused because the cops laughed at him. The mean one jutted his chin toward the purse, “You might as well see what you got for your trouble.” Hands still shaking for an entirely different reason, Sketch pulled the heavy oblong thing from the purse. It was some kind of jar, a cylinder, and inside it was something horrible. In that moment Sketch actually remembered something from school. Mr. Flinders’ biology class, third period, freshman year, the first year he ever got a fix, there was a jar on the shelf by his desk and inside it was a pig fetus, floating in brine, eyes closed, dreaming pig dreams. This was no pig. This was a human fetus, skin deathly white, blue veins etched across its skin like a sailor’s spiderweb tattoos. The eyes were open and staring. This was no pig dream. A barcode was branded into its forehead. It winked at him. Sketch screamed. The cop with the pad took the jar from his shaking fingers almost gently. Mean cop laughed one more time and shot him in the face.

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Comments
  1. Ryan says:

    Two words: Fucking. Awesome.

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