american gothic

She bit her black nail and played with her raven hair while sitting in the front row. She wasn’t interested in the magic show that was going on the stage. If it hadn’t been for the guy sitting next to her, she wouldn’t have been there. She had agreed to go out with him because she had nothing else. He had been a perfect companion so far, not pushy or timid, and held interesting conversations and quiet moments to keep the tension. She liked the fact that he didn’t seem to expect anything from her.

“We need a volunteer … anyone? Ah, how about you, young lady?”

She heard the voice and saw the magician’s hand reaching for her. She looked at her escort. He looked amused and, ever so gently, pushed her back. She stood up from her seat and climbed the steps. The magician ushered her to the middle of the stage.

“Thank you for volunteering. Hold your hand out like this….”

The magician held his arm out and looked at her arm, her skull tattoo to be precise.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a mercenary.”

She smiled.

photo prompt by Sunday Fiction
copyright Al Forbes

For Sunday Photo Fiction – January 15th 2017



12 thoughts on “american gothic

  1. I certainly liked the ending, but I think what I actually liked best in this piece was the beginning. I appreciate the way you captured how some dates or relationships can start with a kind of quiet indifference, not fiery passion. This was really beautifully written.

    Liked by 2 people

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