Flash Fiction – The Street Lamp (AKA a really bad story)

Someone in my writing group posted a picture prompt today. Normally these type of prompts don’t work for me. I guess I’d rather come up with my own visual. This time it did work but in an odd way. I’ll explain at the end of the post though.


The Street Lamp

Sara pulled her hood lower to cover more of her face. Fear rather than the cold snow made her shiver. The street lamp near her home shone brightly but she knew it didn’t matter. Perhaps tonight it would happen.

The vampire had been stalking her for weeks. She’d heard he liked blondes so she knew she was a potential victim. It hadn’t stopped her from walking home from work every night though. With her car broken down and no family in the area she had no choice.

She thought she could feel his eyes on her but didn’t know if he followed her or was lying in wait somewhere. As she turned the corner onto her street she tensed, preparing for the worst.

The light went out.

Sara froze with only a slight gasp escaping her lips. Then…nothing. Again. She pulled her hood down and glanced around. With the light gone she could barely see enough to make it the last few steps to her door. Her gaze swept the area one more time and she sighed before going in.

Around the corner, perched on the street lamp, the vampire chuckled as he screwed the bulb back in for the fifteen time in as many days. He knew he shouldn’t tease the girl but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Damn Twihard, she really did bring it on herself. She was so obvious it sickened him.

One day soon he’d show her what vampires were really like. He might even let her live, but he’d never be her Edward, Edwin, or whatever his name was.


The picture was of a snow-covered street with one street lamp. I don’t feel like looking up who it belongs to so I’m not posting it. So when I first saw it I thought “oh crap, I’ll never come up with anything.” Partly because picture prompts don’t normally work for me and partly because I’m in the throes of a bad case of writer’s block.

Then my muse giggled maliciously and this story formed, the bitch. I wasn’t looking for a mocking story, or a bad one but it’s what I got. So I went all out on the bad part. It amused me and in the end that’s all that matters.

I’m not even going to polish it up, although I did search for spelling errors because I’d rather die than leave a misspelled word there!

Rough Draft 265 words.


WR

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