Braidy's Afraid: A Short Story

"This is not the fucking day I ordered." Braidy slams her coffin shaped handbag down on the park bench. That grotesque tree to her left and beyond – on her shit list. Those hideous flowers behind her growing happily in the sunshine – on her shit list. The sunshine? Yeah, that too. Braidy wasn't a day person. The sun was not her friend. Nor is she immune to Spring. Her allergies are kicking her ass today, but...there is a job to do. "I should ask for a refund. Hah. I wouldn't pay for a day like this with someone else's money." She jerks her purse toward her and digs furiously. Her thickly black lined eyes are itchy and watery, disabling the ability to see well. Shaky hands feel around in the frumpy bag. For shit sakes. Don't tell me I left …show more content…

Afraid she's gonna miss the shot, Braidy jams her fingers into the purse to grab for her phone. "Fuck! Fucking nails." She glances at the chip in her fingernail and then shoves her fingertip toward her teeth to gnaw it into non-existence. Braidy glares at the couple while chewing her nail, unaware that eyeliner had gotten on the pad on that finger and she is now smudging it on her lips. This man seems to be comforting his friend. It doesn't look like an affair at all. Second try on the phone. Hurredly, she unlocks it and hits the camera app. She snaps a few images and stops. This isn't what his wife thinks it is. Or is it? The body language is all wrong. He knows this woman well enough, but it...just...isn't... The woman in question stands to face him revealing her profile. They are identical despite age. Sister? Daughter? Hmm. Braidy intently watches as the lady cups the mans' face with both hands and mouths "thank you" and slowly turns and walks away. The man sits and slumps his shoulders. "What a gorgeous day!" The words were loud and too close for her comfort. Braidy snatches her bag and looks at this man as if he just set the park on fire as he lowers himself to the bench beside her. "Have you been …show more content…

Before she can even take the first step, Cam is running and jumping over the park bench where the guy now lays. She fumbles for her phone and dials 911. As she explains what's happened and where they are, she acknowledges Cam's face when he pulls his fingers from her targets neck. He's dead. What the fuck? She lowers her phone to her side and slowly walks to the bench where her neighbor now stands looking down at this dead man. His expression is sad and worried. As Braidy reaches the back of the bench, Cam looks at her panicked face. "He's gone. Was he your job kiddo?" Cam's voice trembles. "Yeah. I guess I'm not getting paid, huh?" She immediately regrets her bad choice of words, although, Cam seems unaffected. I think he's used to my bullshit by now. Something catches her eye, just out of her peripheral vision to the right. Braidy turns her head to get a better look. Who's that? Just beyond the tree line, about twenty feet, a man with arms and legs crossed leans against an Elm. He's tall. Nice hoodie. All black. Did he raid my closet or what? He knows I'm looking right at him. He's....just...watching? Okay. Fucking weirdo. Sirens in the distance prompt her to look back at the poor fellow lying in front of her. She moves around the bench so she can look at his face. He looks peaceful. That's somewhat