Kara runs her fingers over the cool, smooth lines of the revolver. Its grip fits snugly into her palm, like the hand of a new lover. She raises the muzzle toward her temple and – The motel room door bursts open. A young man carrying a Dunkin’ Donuts bag runs inside and quickly slams the door behind him. He turns, sees Kara holding the gun, and drops the bag. “Oh, shit! Don’t shoot!” he shouts. His milk white skin, thin as the wings of a moth, drapes a skeletal frame. “What do you want?! ” Kara aims the gun at him. “I just need a place to hang for a while. Please don’t shoot me.” Kara takes in the quaking mess standing before her. “What’s your name?” “George. It’s George.” He wipes the snot running from his nose with his right sleeve. “Don’t move.” “I’m not. I won’t,” he says shooting both hands straight up. Police sirens scream by outside. George stiffens. “Are they looking for you?... Answer me. What did you do?” “I hit up the donut shop.” “Drop your gun on the floor.” “I don’t got one. “Don’t lie to me, kid.” George puts his hand in his hoody pocket, makes a gun shape with his finger. “You robbed a donut shop with your finger?” “I hate guns. Scare the crap out of me." Kara convulses into laughter until her cheeks are awash with tears. “You got some nerve laughing at me, lady. At least I ain’t bald.” Seconds pass like days. “Well… I guess you’ve got me there,” Kara says. “So how much did you get?” “I dunno. Forty – fifty bucks maybe. And six French crullers.” “Give me the bag.” George eases it toward her with a foot. Kara grabs the bag, takes out a cruller, and bites into it. “Oh, my God. This is so good. I haven’t had one in years. Fattening as hell… So what did you need the money for? Drugs?” George studies his feet. Kara gestures toward the nightstand next to the bed where there is a cornucopia of medicine containers. “I’ve got drugs.” “You sick or something?” Kara taps her head with the end of the gun. “Aliens.” “Look, I think the cops are probably gone now,” he turns, starts to open the door. “Wait!” George freezes. “Please…” Kara tosses the gun onto a chair.“Don’t go.”
Bio: Jayne Martin is the 2016 winner of Vestal Review’s VERA award for flash fiction. Her work has appeared in Literary Orphans, Midwestern Gothic, Blink-Ink, Spelk, Five:2:One, F(r)iction,Cleaver, Connotation Press and Hippocampus among others. She is the author of “Suitable for Giving: A Collection of Wit with a Side of Wry.” She lives in Santa Barbara, California. Find her on Twitter @Jayne_Martin. Website: Jayne Martin-Author