Terrible Minds’ Flash Fiction: An Affliction of Alliteration

Ruthless Resurrection

Monday the 26th

The story started to take its shape on Monday. I had been delivering pizza for about six months. You start to notice your regulars pretty quickly. Some you notice for big tips, some for weird things, like a guy who’s always naked, or a halo of burning herb around a trailer. But our star customer, ask any of the drivers, was Molly McGeehan. The most beautiful customer on our route. The story started when I knocked on her door and it was answered by a ninety-year-old lady wearing rubber gloves.

Tuesday the 27th

I never mentioned the old lady because why would I? Tuesday was normal until the end. Molly ordered a pizza right before we closed. I volunteered to take it on my way home. Molly’s house was secluded and poorly lit, a careless living situation for a beautiful, young woman. But I was still surprised I missed it. I had been there a lot. I knew all the landmarks. I circled around and sure enough, I had passed it. I was happy to see her answer the door tonight. When she invited me in while she gathered her money, I had to beg my legs not to run in the house, but to play it cool.

Wednesday the 28th

On Wednesday, I woke up in a dark, concrete room, all bound up with zip-ties. I started yelling and eventually the door opened. It was that old lady and she still had the rubber gloves. I waited for something to happen. But she just stood there.

“What’s happening?”


“Hello? Where’s Molly?”

The old lady wouldn’t look at me in the eyes.

“It’s gonna be easy to find me, you know. The manager knows this was my last stop last night.”

I waited for a solid minute.

“Look at me!”

She looked right at me. Oh my god, my hands and feet turned to ice. It felt like hundreds of people were looking at me. She didn’t say anything but so many people were begging me. I didn’t know what else to say.


She turned and left, shut the door behind her. My hands and feet thawed out and I cried the whole time.

Thursday the 29th

My whole day on Thursday was pitch black. Several times, I heard people on radios say my name, and dogs bark or whimper. Sometimes it sounded like they were in the room with me, their voices floating right above. Those are the times I would yell until I couldn’t. No response.

Friday the 30th

On Friday, Molly opened the door and she had a knife.

“Molly! Please!”

She walked over to me, cut the zip-ties, and said, “Food’s on the way.” Then she left the room.

I followed her out and was surprised to find that I hadn’t been in a basement, just a concrete guest room.

“Will you please tell me what’s happening? Who’s that old lady?”

Molly stopped setting the dining table and she looked blank. “I’m sorry you saw her.”

At this point, yes I was scared. But it’s like in a scary dream when you’re almost aware it’s a dream. It’s still scary, but mostly it’s, can we get this over with?

“You know, it’s fine. She weirded me out, but whatever. I’m gonna go now. Do you have my keys?”

“There’s nowhere to go. You’re here now.”

While I was wrapping my head around that nonsense, I heard a car door shut outside, then a knock at the door, then Molly’s mouth.

“Food’s here!”

What would you do if a door opened and it was you standing there? And then that you couldn’t hear this you, or even feel it when you slapped you in the face?

Worst. Day.

Saturday the 31st

Saturday felt like a lucid nightmare. I was wreaking havoc on this neighborhood and no one was noticing. I would be throwing rocks through someone’s front window one moment, no visible damage the next. Punch a guy square in the nose and he wouldn’t blink. I killed Molly over and over that day. Stabbed her in the gut, electrified the water pipes while she showered, bashed her head in with a hammer. Unlike the others, she at least noticed, yet still no sign of what I had done.

That night, she left a crack in her bedroom door. I quietly watched from the hallway as she undressed and let her hair down. On Monday, I would have felt very different about the situation. She sat in front of a mirror in her underwear, brushing her hair. A half hour in, I was mesmerized, almost forgot I was stuck in some in-between reality. But then she put the brush down, looked into her own eyes in the mirror, and said something that sounded like, “Ayam.” In an instant, she was the old lady. I muffled my scream and as quietly as running can be, made my way to the kitchen. The old lady, Molly, was right behind me.

“Time for bed.”

Sunday the 1st

It was the best idea I had, so I went with it. All day, I tried to act casual, waiting for her to sit at the mirror. When she finally did, I was in the hall, knife in hand, eyes on her mouth. As soon as her lips opened, I said it with her.


She turned pale as our eyes locked. All those people in her eyes were screaming when she turned into beautiful Molly. She ran at me and I stabbed that bitch to death.

It’s one of those things that’s impossible to prove. You start saying someone else was crazy and that’s why you had to kill them, well people start saying that you’re the crazy one. A life in prison is a long one. I’m patiently waiting. When I finally get out of this body, I’m going to find pretty Molly McGeehan, and I’m going to make her pay.


2 Comments on “Terrible Minds’ Flash Fiction: An Affliction of Alliteration”

  1. louisesor says:

    This is a really terrific story until the last paragraph.
    I can’t figure out exactly what happened from the way it’s written.

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