The Eyes Behind the Blindfold

Okay, Kate, I'm going to put this out there. Where? Out "there." Creepy. Maybe we really should keep this on permanent classified status.

Unfortunately, I do not recall what led to the thought 'there's still blood on your hands.' Perhaps it was the (historical) danger (we encountered none) of the wild west. Tombstone. Talk of No Country for Old Men while on this aforementioned road trip, a contemplation of violence. Regardless, I have a tendency to write down words and phrases to which I hope to return and expound upon, creatively. Or otherwise. I rarely, in fact, do return. However, the phrase kind of stuck in my head and by the time I got home, ready to write my 'flash fiction' (250 words or less) for my online writing 'class', I put my fingers to the keys and this just kind of created itself.

Keep in mind that I'm not a writer, but I'm still kind of sensitive about my shit.



The Eyes Behind the Blindfold, by Christine.


‘Make sure you get all the blood off.’

Deanne glared at him over her shoulder. She turned off the water, threw the soap into the basin, faced him and wiped her hands on her jeans.

‘Your pouting won’t help. I’m starting to think you didn’t want this.’

Jack was good at that, making her think there was a time when she did want to break into his sister’s home, bind his twin seven-year-old nieces, their mother and father, in the barn and execute them.

‘The hard part is over. Now we just drive. Like when we were kids. Anywhere you want.’

His hands on her waist, he gently turned her toward the sink and began washing her hands. He was so fucking good at that. The sacrifices, always for her.

‘You’ll feel better once you are cleaned up, once we are on the road.’

She watched the blood swirl down the drain, she watched his hands massage the red out of her skin, watched him pat them dry with a rag. Just minutes before it had been tied around the now dead eyes of his sister.

‘There you go. See? Everything is working out exactly how we planned. Finally, Deanne, now it will all begin for us.’

It calmed her to hear him speak like that. He was so good. His voice made it easy. She took the pistol from the countertop, fired twice and went out the backdoor.

There was not a trace of blood on her this time.