Inside the eyes of a Pica Hudsonia

This flash fiction has no name. (yet)

And in a single whisper she expelled her entire story written with her blood spats on the floor, as the sharp blade exited. There was no sound, other than her lifeless body finally meeting with the earth like a magnet towards metal. The evening was getting cooler, but the warmth of the mid day heat still hovered the pavement. I felt like lighting a cigarette, but as I finished that thought off, Anti smoking t.v. commercials began frantically popping in my head. It was best to wait for a better time, a better excuse.

As I resumed my walking, I remembered that I have missed what I was trying to acquire. I gently walked back to her. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the vastness of the evening sky, as if she was gently —with her fainting sight, guiding her soul to the right direction. I kneeled and searched her jacket pocket. All her clothes were still humid from her perspiration and sweat, as if she was just resting from a strenuous exercise. Her clothes seemed like if they demanded an explanation, but the pool of her own blood was more than enough evidence and information. She reminded me of a girl I met at White’s Tavern last Sunday night. Just like her—she had long brown hair and a stare that hurt as it pierced your eyes. She left me a note on a napkin. She looked bold, but a napkin with her name and what it appeared to be a phone number— seemed a little off putting, and a shy move to what she seemed not. I should call her back sometime soon. This life is beginning to feel to heavy and dark. I need a distraction, and Teresa—if that is her real name or not— should be a perfect candidate to spend a night or two without the eternal torture of sleeping with one eye open. 

I picked the heavy, yet small metallic object from her, as if I was taking a token of this event. Her hair danced with the soft breeze; The only part of her that seemed alive. As the chilled breeze blew from one direction to another, some collections of her strands were being glued to the sticky mess of what was left of her. I felt like a hunter taking antlers from a deer he just shot. Yet, this thing belonged to me. Why was it taken from me in the first place? Who would want this object so eagerly to get killed for? Who am i to kill for it?

“Not yet evolved”, I say…Not yet indeed.

I walked to my car and drove off into the night. I always loved the evening skies of New Mexico. The stars always look best when you drive away from any city. They seem closer, although they are doing the exact opposite. I stopped along side of the endless road. It was getting colder. The heat that once overwhelmed, was now alleviated by the night scene. It was just me and the creatures of the night. My hands began to shake and I could almost hear my heart beating, like native american drums being played around a bonfire inside me. Distant at first, but louder and clearer as my breathing went faster. I stepped out and climbed onto the hood of my dirty car, and lied there staring at the cosmos face to face. The breeze was not gentle and soft anymore, as if it was trying to give me some type of guilt with its frigid caress. I felt the need for that cigarette. I shiveringly struggled to successfully light my lucky strike. Ten tries, until I cupped my hand and lit again. The only little dot of light in the deep and dark highway. Just a five second ignition, while the rest of the stars burn longer than everyone’s lifetime combined. There were no commercials this time. I guess I am not ready to leave the nasty habit. Not yet indeed.

-L