I loved her, even if she never knew my name. She was my Ariel, and I know I am her Eric.
No matter what she says.
#1 in short story on 02/07/18
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As he squinted, his face smiled back at him. He remembered when he took that, only a month ago he had posted it on Instagram. The smug, smoldering face stared right through the computer screen. But alas, his beautiful face was not all that graced the screen.
Right above it was a headline. He moved, gently laying Ariel's head down, and quietly crept towards the monitor.
Serial kidnapper on the run - one murdered, at least one hostage.
His breath was stuck in his throat like he had tried to swallow a pool ball and got it stuck halfway down.
He couldn't go to jail.
He wouldn't.
He was much too pretty for it.
Like a switch, the revelation cleared his senses, washing away all distractions. In the other room, there was no sound of something frying, or being whisked together. But there was something - a low murmuring. How he had missed it was beyond him.
That senile old man! Holding back a snarl, he moved swiftly and silently to Ariel.
He lifted her, glaring daggers as she moaned moving away from him. If he had the time, he would have loved to backhand her. How dare she try to ruin it for him.
And so, he made a promise as he slid out the door.
If she brought him down, he would drag her down with him.
———
And as he was in the middle of being reassured by the dispatcher that the police were driving over that second, he heard a terrible screech. He dashed to the window as fast as his old bones would allow, phone in hand, only to see the tail end of his truck flying down the road.
Looking back, he should have quit the habit of leaving his keys in the car.
