MICHELLE TURNER - SHORT-STORIES

Michelle Turner is a Writer and Illustrator. Author of the FlashFiction book, "CRYPTIC." She is currently a student attending Fullsail University, earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. Michelle resides in Orlando, FL. With her Husband Nygee, and their one-year-old son Hiro. She spends her free Time drawing, reading, watching Japanese anime, and writing of course.
https://mturner194.wixsite.com/michelledturner

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​Hijacker

​A high-pitched buzzing came from the clock on the nightstand table beside the bed. The red light flashes “7 A.M.” as Ash creaks one eye open, glaring at the ceiling. She kicked her legs over the edge of the bed, knocking over a small pile of miniature alcohol bottles – further staining the already-soiled carpet.  A strong, rough hand reached up and clasped her shoulder. She rolled her eyes and the room began to spin. Squinting as she winced at the pang of pain that throbbed in her head, the foggy haze begins to lift from her eyes. Her surroundings become clear. “Oh God,” she said, holding a hand to her mouth as she started to dry-heave. The dank hotel room smelled of stale beer and B.O., and her stomach couldn’t take it.
“Hey beautiful,” Abel said, from the far side of the bed.
            Ash stumbles to the bathroom and slams the door behind her. Abel gave a wide tooth grin and jolted from the bed letting the sheets slide off his naked form. He strolled over to the bathroom door and gave it a soft tap.
“You know, if we are going be partners you’re going to have to get over not liking me. In fact, you seemed to like me a lot last night,” he said.
The door wrenched open revealing Ash’s scowling features.
“Look, you jerk. Last night was a huge booze-fueled mistake, and it won’t happen again,” she said.
“Fine by me, doll. Let’s just get this job done,” Abel said, as he reached for his pile of wrinkled clothing sprawled out on to floor.
            They both eyed the black leather suitcase in the middle of the small round deck table.
“Why is that just sitting out in the open? Did we just forget that our lives depend on keeping that case safe?” Ash said.
“It seems our booze-fueled mistake had us preoccupied,” Abel said.
            Ash hurled the case onto one of the twin-sized beds that occupied the room and popped the lock, revealing its contents.
“10 million in uncut diamonds,” she said.
“Well, don’t get too attached. They will be here soon to collect. We just need to focus on getting our cut and getting out of here,” Abel said.
There was a loud knock at the door, and without an invitation entered two men in black suits.
“Hello gentlemen,” Abel said, extending his hand forward.
            Both the gentlemen continued to glare, and Abel retracted his fingers awkwardly. Ash moved beside him with the case clasped in her arms.
“Can we get this over with?” she said.
“Where is what we came for?” one of the gentlemen asked.
“Right here,” Abel said, as he yanked a gun from behind his back, shooting the man dead in the face.

Before his partner could react, Ash drops the cases, revealing her own firearm and shoots the other gentleman in the chest.
            The two men lay on the floor dead, dark pools of crimson formed on the disgusting carpet.
“That was easier than I thought,” Abel said, tossing his gun onto one of the beds, turning back toward Ash.
“Yeah. It was,” she said.
            A loud shot rang out. Wide-eyed and clutching his chest, Abel crashes to the floor, clawing at her feet.
“You bitch!” he said, blood spurting from his mouth. He rolls onto his back, losing consciousness.
“I may be a bitch, but I’m a filthy rich one,” Ash said, grinning down at his corpse.
            She empties the contents of the case into her purse. Gliding back a few paces, she gets a running start and sprints through the double-doors leading to the deck, and scales the wooden fence.
 
 
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​Fear the Reaper

Millie sat in her rust bucket of a wheel chair and stared incessantly at the multiple deadbolt locks attached to her wooden doorframe. She did not dare to miss a single one, for it might mean certain death. She could hear it scratching, panting, could feel the icy cold breath of death coming from the other side. “You’ll never get in! You hear? Not ever!” she screeched as she balled her fists triumphantly in the air.Wheeling herself out of her dingy living room, weaving around the towers of junk that cluttered her apartment, she managed to maneuver her way into the kitchen, knocking over pots and other knick- knacks that seemed to take over the space. Her hands shook trying to regain control of her chair after the wheels slid over the gunk covered floor. She made it to the sink, and grabbed her silver dinted kettle, and filled it with the yellow colored water from her corroded faucet. She shivered as she thought about the dark hoodedcreature waiting for her just outside. Stress from the fear, made her cough violently. She brought her handkerchief up to her lips and when she took it away, she spotted crimson droplets that stained the white lace. The creature had appeared two weeks ago when she was about to leave for a doctor’s appointment. Millie had developed a brutal cough, and wanted to have it check out. But sense that day she couldn’t bear to leave the house, because she knew what the appearance of the creature meant.With her face twisted in anger and mumbling curses under her breath, she lit one of the pilots on the grease covered stove, and glared into the tiny blue flames with tears streaking down her face. She quickly whipped them away and placed the kettle onto the flame. Once again, she guided her wheel chair back into the maze of her belongings to get to the living room, seating herself directly in front of the door, and double-checking the locks. She could still hear it, the creature laughing patronizing her. “Laugh all you want. This door will never open to you!” she yelled with conviction. Soon after she begins to feel drowsy and her vision becomes blurry from staring at the wooden structure for so long. A loud obnoxious snore escaped Millie’s lips as she slips into a deep slumber. Hours later she jolts awake to an earsplitting noise.
Turning around she sees the fire alarm flashing and glaring away.  The entire room was raging with flames. With the heat scorching her face she holds down her head in shame and defeat. She knows she caused her own destruction. How Stupid! Done in by tea. Tired of the paranoia and erratic behavior she gives up and turns back toward the door. She looks up, and jerks her head back sharply, staring at what lay before her. It was the hooded creature. She stared in ah of its gigantic size, its back hunch over touching the
ceiling; it’s fluid cloak billowing around it. The shadowy Figure extended a bony hand to her, and she cackled nervously in response. I’m just suppose to take your arm and go willingly, huh? She looked back at her apartment, now engulfed in fire she knew she had no choice.
It was time, one-way or the other, it was her day to die. She smiled a big toothy grin at the creature; it’s tar pit blackness silently staring back at her from its hood. “Alright my friend, I’m ready,” she said. She took the reaper by the hand and sighed in relief as all the tension she was holding onto melted from her body, calm and understanding took its place. She dies a sweet death, one without pain, regret, or sorrow.
 
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