November 2008
Something to Do With Sebastian by Douglas Lind
A Rainy Night of Density with a Reckless Neurotic by Richey Piiparinen
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Betty Sue
by Michael A. Kechula
Michael A. Kechula is a retired technical writer. Switching to fiction in 2003, his works have won first prize in six writing contests and honorable mention in two others. His stories have appeared in 53 print and online magazines and anthologies in Australia, Canada, England, and the US. He's written seven books of flash fiction tales and a self-study book that teaches beginners how to write flash fiction. He's former Flash Fiction Editor of Apollo's Lyre eZine, Senior Editor of Nimue's Grotto eZine, and Submissions Editor of the Coffee Cramp, a print magazine.
“How do you really feel about me, Chester?” Betty Sue asked with such exquisite tenderness, his heart and soul turned to goo.
Chester was so shy, he wasn’t sure how to answer. But an inner voice told him what to say.
“I think you’re the most fabulous woman on this campus. You’re beautiful, extremely intelligent, a fabulous writer. You have style, class, elegance. You’re milk, honey, and ambrosia. Every time I see you my insides do somersaults, and I feel volcanic, tender, and high—all at the same time. When you sit across from me in Creative Writing, my heart pounds, hot lava races through my veins. I descend into an altered state of consciousness so sweet, intense ecstasy pleasures my very soul.”
She sighed.
“The time you accidentally touched my hand, I went insane with raging desire. I wanted to devour your lithe, delicately scented body, inch by inch. I love you. I want you. I need you. I want to be absorbed by you, to become part of you. You’re in my heart, my soul, my blood.”
Chester’s outpouring of verbal love electrified Betty Sue’s soul. Overwhelmed with passion, she opened herself to him.
Chester sighed deeply. His daydreams were out of control again. If only I could walk with her after class, she’d find out how wonderful I am, and fall in love with me. But her nasty-looking boyfriend prevents any possibility of realizing my dreams. The bastard waits for her outside the classroom every damn day. How am I ever gonna talk to her when King Kong hogs her time? Doesn’t he ever get the flu? Doesn’t he ever fall and break his neck, or crash his car into a pole?
The voice told Chester, “There’s only one way to get what you want…kill Kong.”
He chided the voice for suggesting such an immoral, illegal, but fabulously delicious idea.
Every day, the voice urged Chester to take action. Soon, the idea of nudging Betty Sue’s boyfriend into eternity seemed logical, reasonable, necessary.
One day after class, he stalked them. They lunched in the student lounge, then strolled to the parking garage. When they entered a pick up truck, they kissed.
“You should be in that truck kissing her,” the voice said. “I’ll bet they’re gonna do more than just kiss. Yep. I was right. Look—the truck’s jiggling.”
The sight sickened Chester. He regurgitated, then ran from the garage.
The voice gave Chester lots of ideas on how to kill Kong. Chester felt so desperate, he acted on one. But, he didn’t count on Betty Sue being with her boyfriend when the pickup’s brakes gave way. The truck sailed over a cliff.
With Betty Sue gone, Chester nearly died from grief. He cursed the voice.
Cops interviewed every member of the Creative Writing class. They spent extra time with Chester when he slipped and said he loved Betty Sue.
“Did you do something to the truck, Chester?” a detective asked, searching Chester’s eyes. “Maybe to get rid of her boyfriend? To have her all to yourself?”
“Me? Kill somebody? Oh no, Sir. I couldn’t kill a fly.”
“But you did time in the State Boy’s School for killing things.”
“I got cured while I was there. Dr. Manning said so.”
“Are you really cured, Chester?”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll never strangle puppies again.”
The interview shook Chester to the core. That detective’s sharp. I think he’s on to me. I’ll get the gas chamber for sure. I gotta hide somewhere.
The voice suggested dozens of hiding places.
Taking the voice’s advice, Chester ran to the cemetery at midnight and opened Betty Sue’s grave.
“Hi Betty Sue,” he whispered, swinging open the coffin lid. “It’s me—Chester. We sit across from each other in Creative Writing. Would you like a Tic Tac?”
He thought she nodded. The voice confirmed it.
He climbed into the coffin and lay on top of her. Embracing her tightly, he kissed her cold fetid lips, and passed the mint from his tongue to hers.
“Hope you don’t mind that I’m so sweaty,” he said. “The lid’s so heavy. Feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. It was harder to open than I thought.”
After more kisses, he confessed his deep yearnings.
“But I’m not eighteen yet, Chester,” she seemed to say. “I’m jail bait.”
The voice whispered, “Tell her nobody will ever find out.”
“Who’s gonna know?” Chester asked, holding her tighter. “I won’t tell, if you don’t.”
He thought she giggled.
“This beats the gas chamber any day,” he said, reaching up to close the lid.
Betty Sue is copyrighted 2006 by Michael A. Kechula and may not be reproduced under any circumstances without his permission.