Candy V2.0 - an excerpt
The first 450-ish words of an actual short story I’m writing, as opposed to the usual flash fiction. Though it is based on an earlier piece of Flash Fiction - Candy.
———-
Frankie’s mind raced as he sped down interstate 80, the vastness of the Nevada desert falling away on either side of him. There was nothing here but empty space, and in his current state of paranoia, Frankie liked it that way. It was a clear day, and he could see for miles in every direction.
The better to see you with, my dear
He twitched as the thought floated through his head, unsure if he was thinking, or speaking out loud, or if the thought (or the voice) was even his own. Who was it who said that anyway?
Cal would know he thought, and tightened his grip on the wheel. He was sweating, despite the cold air blasting from the air conditioning. As he thought about Cal, Frankie unconsciously stepped harder on the gas. The needle on the thermometer shuddered to 90, not that the speed limit mattered out here. The desert was as huge and desolate as Heathcliff’s moor - the unbroken horizon so vast it created the illusion of being able to see the curve of the earth. Frankie paid no attention to it. He stared out of the windshield, trying to look in every direction at once, and as he did so, his beleaguered mind wandered.
***
It all started with Cal. Cal and his candy. The night they met, Frankie was stumbling across the street in downtown Winnemucca, fresh from his shift at the bar in the Lucky J casino. He tripped over Cal, who was lying in the road bleeding and barely conscious.
“Whatcha doin’ down there, buddy?” Frankie slurred as he squatted next to Cal
“Mu’fuckers shanked me” he gasped “wanted Candy, I d’int have any on me”
Frankie was confused. Candy? It seemed absurd that someone would stab the kid over some candy. He must have said something else; he was probably bleeding to death after all.
“Lemme look atcha, where you stuck?” he patted Cal’s face gently “tell me where they got ya, I’ll see if I can’t fix ya up long enough to get to a hosh- hospital”
“Stomach, they got me right in the belly”
Frankie lifted his shirt, and looked critically at the deep, red slash in Cal’s abdomen. It was off to the right - he must have tried to twist away from the knife - but deep. Frankie thought he would probably live, though. Probably.
His training kicked in then, despite the haze of alcohol, and he took off his shirt and began to tear long strips from the bottom. Cal groaned and shifted, and Frankie put a steadying hand on his chest
“Stay still, you’ll make it bleed worse. I gotta bandage you up some, ‘fore you bleed to death.”
