Photo Story No. 17

“It’s Friday the 13th. Everybody, stay safe out there.”

Celia turned off the radio. She spotted what she had been looking for. She killed her idling car.

Her long legs presented first. When Celia stood, four pairs of eyes followed her movements. She gave a nod to a few, then continued her hunt.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” she said, giving a light run to catch up with the blonde. “Excuse me.”

The girl gave a stuttered glance back, then fully turned around when she realized Celia was talking to her. “Yes?”

“Could you help me? I need to use a phone. Mine died, and I need to call my husband to tell him my car is dead.” The woman looked around as if searching for a reason to say no, then pulled her phone from the pocket of her Michael Kors handbag. When she held it out, Celia grabbed her wrist.

The woman tried to pull away, but there was no movement. Celia had the strength of stone. When the woman looked up, she saw her attacker’s eyes had gone black, and no one around them seemed to notice a thing. “Let go of me.” She pulled as hard as she could away from the woman with the black eyes. No one watched them, no one turned to look; those on the same sidewalk were walking around them. How could no one care she was being attacked? She screamed again.

Celia smiled. “They can’t hear you. Today is our day. Today, he protects us.” The woman half heard Celia, but she was frantic, hysterical, screaming, flailing. She felt like her wrist was cast inside of dried cement.

Celia tightened her grasp, then put her other hand to the woman’s chest.

“Help me, PLEASE.”

“I am helping you. You’ll live on forever, in me.” Celia’s palm opened, then latched onto the woman’s sternum. When the transfer began, Celia’s knees grew weak from the flow of euphoria. Her blood, marrow, cartilage, fibers, her energy….she tasted, she FELT divine. She didn’t even watch the woman; her eyes closed and her head fell back.

The woman shriveled before completely dissolving into a pile of dust, having been depleted of everything.

“Twenty-three more hours.” Celia licked her hand before the orifice closed. “Who’s next?”

 

THE END

 

Copyright WB Welch – All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

To see the photo that originally inspired this story, please visit the Instagram link below.

Photo Story No. 17

 

 

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