So here’s my latest from Cracked Flash Fiction. A hearty thanks to the judges for choosing my story and their warm comments. The story had to begin with the line: “Why do you have a pound of superglue—you know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Why do you have a pound of superglue—you know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know…I’ll just trump it up to another one of your idiosyncrasies.” She smiled, and tucked her hair behind her good ear, leaving her thick auburn locks covering the other.
He asked her if she’d like a drink; she accepted.
They sat across from one another, the tub of superglue on the mahogany coffee table, and sipped the brandy in silence. He stared into her large round eyes, then let his own admire the perfect symmetry of her face. A paragon of beauty.
“Can I use your restroom?”
“Of course. Shall I help you?”
“Thank you, but I think I can manage.” She propped herself up on her cane, and hobbled toward the hallway. “Third door on the left, right?”
He refilled her drink, and waited, musing over the work to be done—his greatest work, his magnum opus.
Upon her return, she thanked him for refilling her drink, sat, and together they shared hopes and dreams and thoughts on life. She liked him, and she knew he knew it; he loved her and he knew she knew it.
He didn’t care about her deformed ear, her abnormal arm, or club foot. He loved her for who she was. But she neither loved herself nor believed her worthy of love.
She took a big sip of brandy, set the tumbler down, and yawned big and heavy. Her perfect cheeks flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I—I—”
Her eyelids grew heavy; she eked out an embarrassed smile, and passed out.
He cradled her in his arms, brushed back her hair, and kissed her forehead; he bent at the knee and picked up the bottle of “Dr. Frankenstein’s Medical Grade Biotic Super Glue.”