Don't String Me Along

This is the first story I wrote that won a Saturday Writers Club contest. It wasn’t my first entry, there were many. It’s flash fiction story, which means it has to be 500 words or less. The club topic for the contest that year was ‘Sins and Virtues’. Each year the club publishes an anthology containing the winning stories. I hope you enjoy it.

Don't String Me Along

     Life has changed a lot, since the murder. Samuel doesn't smile anymore. No one knows, but me, and I won't tell. He didn't want to do it, I'm sure of that. He doesn’t trust me anymore, but he knows to listen. I'm his business partner, you'd think that would make a difference, but he sees me as a stranger holding a bounty on his head.We were once tight as twins sharing everything, not anymore. Now, he hardly talks to me. It all started a year ago, when he met Sharon. Just saying her name makes me twinge.

***

     It was mid-summer and we were doing a show in Hoboken, hot as hell. Sam was the main player. He set everything up; I played an integral part in the show, but Sam took care of all the details. I didn’t mind being second banana; it worked well, until Sharon came along. That’s when I felt manipulated. That probably sounds strange coming from me, but it’s the way I felt.

***

    She came backstage after the show all perky and such with her pushup bra. Sam didn’t have a chance but I knew early on she was a not right for him, not right for anyone. She knew what strings to pull to get him to do whatever she wanted. He couldn’t see it, but I had experience. It went on for months. He no longer made his own decisions without consulting her. I tried to intervene, but he didn’t listen. 

***

     Our shows got worse. Sam tried to go on his own without me, her idea, but it wasn’t working. I was living my life in a box and I needed to do something. His life and our careers were flowing into the gutter.I knew it was up to me, I had no choice, but I needed Sam’s help.

***

    Early one day, when she wasn’t around, Sam picked me up to practice our old act. I knew then, how to get in his head, and change our future. It was easier than I thought, down deep he felt used by her, ready to retreat. My thoughts and plans became his. He knew too well she needed to go. It wouldn’t be easy, and it needed to be fast. He followed her to a run down hotel, and plied her with booze until she collapsed. Sam was drunk as well, which is what I counted on. Her death was quick, and no weapons were used, just a soft plump pillow.  His guilt made him submit to my every wish.        

***

    We still work together but it’s not the same. He’s the puppeteer, but I pull his strings. My mouth moves at his request, but now his words are from my thoughts.

    “Who’s the puppet now…Sammy Boy?”

Something I Notiiced

      It’s a little thing and maybe it means nothing but I think it’s interesting. When I was young and someone in a car let a pedestrian pass, the pedestrian would give a thank you wave and hustle across the street or into the store.
      Today is different, drivers still let people pass giving them a sign to let them know to walk ahead safely, but the pedestrians don’t wave or hustle to their destination. They lumber . . .  a slow lumber as if getting across the street or into the store must only be accomplished before daybreak.
      I’d like to point out that there are still people that wave and hustle across the street or parking lot but their in the minority. It’s important to note that some people are old and unable to hustle or maybe they are actually hustling but we aren’t able to recognize it. Taking all that into consideration there are still a lot of capable people that lumber when given the safety wave.
      I’m not an expert but it seems like there’s a message here that deserves some attention. What have you noticed? I’d like to know. “Just wondering . . . “