I Live to Serve...

Flash Fiction February (Day 4)

Image: YASA Design Studio via Unsplash+

CW: Blood, Gore.

Most people are sent out with a list of groceries, but not me. No, my mistress sent me out with a list of body parts. Organs, to be specific. They also couldn’t be from one person. I didn’t bother asking why.

Her reasons are not for us to know.

“I know that. You don’t need to remind me,” I said, setting down the bloody knife in my left hand.

There was so much blood. I didn’t like the way it felt between my fingers. Too sticky, too warm, too…

Bloody?

“Yeah, I guess,” I said.

Lying on the ground in a dark alley was my fifth victim of the night. I looked behind me, squinting at the vague silhouettes of people walking by in the distance. They paid me no mind, and why would they?

They’re all just sheep, marching endlessly to the slaughter.

“Not all of them. Not her. I can save her. I can save all of them.”

I dug my hands into the hole I had carved in the poor woman’s chest while she was still breathing. Her mouth hung agape, blood trickling from the side, as I pushed past her intestines like a wall of vines guarding my prize.

What are you doing?

“I’m getting the last one. The liver.”

I felt a wave of disappointment wash over me.

“What?” I asked.

It’s higher. Above the intestines. How can you be this stupid?

“Don’t be mean!” I said, wincing as my voice echoed across the dark walls on either side.

Just get it done so we can bring everything back to our Mistress.

I roiled around in the poor woman’s body until I finally managed to remove the liver. I kicked open the small cooler to my right and set the glistening organ down on the pile of other body parts I had collected over the course of the night.

I took the water bottle out from the ice in the back corner and washed off my hands.

Bring the knife. We can’t leave any evidence.

“If our Mistress isn’t happy, it won’t matter.”

No, I suppose it won’t.

I picked up the cooler and made my way back to the busy city streets. It was so easy to blend in where you’re surrounded by millions of people. Trapped like ants in a glass cage.

I often found myself looking up at the towering skyscrapers around me and wondering what all those people were doing.

I also wondered if they knew how close they were to complete and utter oblivion. I smiled to myself as I made my way back to my Mistress. I was proud of the work I did. It didn’t matter that I had to murder people.

Maybe if you wore a cape, they would see you as a hero.

“Somehow, I don’t think so,” I replied.

My Mistress was waiting for me in the VIP room at a nightclub downtown. The place was called Memento Mori. She was the owner of the club. A successful business woman.

Not an easy task in a world dominated by men.

“I guess you could say Mistress is cutthroat,” I said, cackling to myself.

I would have gone with “maneater,” but your joke is good, too.

The club was only a couple blocks away. I checked my watch. I still had time for a quick detour. I turned and entered a coffee shop on the corner, one that was open twenty-four hours. It was called The Daily Grind. I loved that name.

I stepped inside, taking in the smell of coffee beans and the sound of fingers clattering against keyboards. Standing at the counter was a woman with dirty blonde hair, tied up in a messy ponytail. She wore a bandana on her head with a different pattern every day. That day, it had tiny cartoon pigeons.

I walked up the counter, holding the cooler at my side. When her beautiful blue eyes saw me, she smiled and waved. My heart lit up every time I saw that smile.

“There you are, Pete! I was wondering when you’d come in for your coffee!”

“Yeah, I got tied up at work,” I replied with a shrug.

Real original.

“So, how’s your day been, Emily?” I asked.

She shrugged. “The usual, you know? Not too bad. Hopefully tomorrow is more exciting.”

If only she knew that tomorrow is dependent on us finishing our work.

“I’m sure it will be!”

She started working on my drink. A Caramel Macchiato. It was my favorite, and I always got it iced.

“You know, Pete, I’ve never asked what you do for work,” she said, pulling a lever on the espresso machine.

This oughta be good.

“I work in the medical field,” I said.

You are the furthest thing from a doctor.

“Oh wow, that’s really cool. It’s great that you get to help people.”

She’s sort of right, I suppose.

Emily finished the drink with a drizzle of caramel and slid it across the counter, pairing it with that perfect smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked.

Here’s hoping.

“You know it!” I said, picking up the coffee.

I finished my drink on the way to Memento Mori and tossed it in the garbage outside. The bouncer, a nice guy named Dave who only looked really scary, waved me inside. I kept my eyes on the floor as I pushed through the crowds of drunken people dancing or otherwise blocking the walkways.

I didn’t like it there. The music was too loud. The bass shook the ground like a dinosaur stomping through the building. It was overwhelming.

The term you’re looking for is overstimulating.

“Either way, I hate it!”

It didn’t matter if I yelled in there. It was too loud for anyone to hear me. Once I got to the back office, though, it was nice and quiet.

Mistress Minerva sat at her desk; her high heels propped up on the surface. She was staring into a makeup mirror as I walked in, carefully applying a fresh layer of crimson lipstick.

“Come on in, Pete, you’re right on time as always.” she said, clapping the mirror shut.

“I have all five of the organs, just like usual,” I said, setting the cooler down on her desk.

Mistress Minerva stood up, eagerly tapping her fingernails together as she pulled the lid open.

“If that’s all Mistress, I’d like to head home. It’s been a long night,” I said.

Mistress Minerva picked up one of the organs. A lung. Her cold gray eyes regarded it like a perfectly cooked steak.

“No, I think I want you to stay tonight, Pete.” she said, taking a bite out of the spongy flesh.

There’s no way this is a good thing.

“Is something wrong with what I brought you?” I asked, trying to mask the terror in my voice.

“No, you did well as always. I was just thinking, though, that I’m bored of this world. I’ve always done all there is to do. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried, I’ve fucked, I’ve made love, I’ve had my fill.”

“Maybe you should try planning a vacation?” I asked.

Mistress Minerva laughed. She didn’t laugh often. It sent a chill down my spine.

“No, I think I’d like to kill them all,” she said.

All I could think about was Emily the barista.

She doesn’t deserve that.

“Mistress, please don’t! I’ll do anything you wish! Please let them have tomorrow!” I begged.

Mistress Minerva slammed her hands on the desk and let out an inhuman shriek. Her jaw unhinged, and I saw a mass of writing tentacles emerge from her throat. A collection of featureless serpents writhing where her tongue should be.

She’s trying to scare you. Just stay still.

The tentacles retreated as Mistress Minerva plucked another one of the organs out of the cooler. The heart this time.

“Alright Pete, I’ll let your world live one more day, on one condition.”

I nodded. “Anything!”

“I know about your little girlfriend. Emily, right?”

No…

“Mistress, I—”

“SILENCE!” she shrieked.

Just shut up.

“I want you to bring me her eyes. Yes, that sounds lovely. Bring me her eyes and your pathetic race can have another day. Do we have a deal?”

Say yes, you idiot! We’ll figure something out.

“Yes, Mistress, I will,” I said.

Mistress Minerva smiled as she sat back down at her desk. She took a bite out of the heart in her hand. Blood ran down the side of her neck.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go!” she shouted.

I turned and ran out of the office. Back into the club.

“What are we going to do? We’re not actually going to hurt her, are we?” I asked.

No. Of course not. I would rather see them all burn before I’d let you lay a finger on her.

“So, what do we do then?” I asked.

We tell Emily everything. Then? We run.

“You know, for once, I agree with you.”

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