flowers

by X.C. Atkins

Any professional knew all you had to do was make sure you got rid of the head and the hands completely. Erase them. The rest, not really traceable. I’d dump them into the lake just out of town, as usual. I sawed them into manageable pieces, listening to the Cocteau Twins. Good morning music. I wrapped them up in paper. It really didn’t take very long. Like I was at my old butcher’s job at Whole Foods. I laid them all into my trunk. Neat. Organized.

I took a shower. Got myself clean. I was using this new soap my girlfriend had got me. It was supposed to be nice stuff. She was always doing things like that. Trying to make my life better. I was trying to be better about letting her do that. It wasn’t always easy. We’d been dating a few months by now.

The sun was just coming up when I was ready to leave. Faint but beautiful light. I got into my truck and began to pull out the driveway. Down the sidewalk, this older man, no hair on the top of his head, mustache, he was walking his dog. An old bulldog. The dog was beginning to take a shit. The old man didn’t notice, he had his phone out. He was taking a picture on his phone, a picture of some flowers. Really lovely red flowers, just come into bloom. He took the photo and turned around and saw me looking at him from my truck. He was smiling. I smiled back and gave him a thumbs up.

Photo of X.C. Atkins

BIO: X.C. Atkins is the author of Grace Street Alley and other stories (Makeout Creek Books) and The Desperado Days (Trnsfr Books). He has work in Prairie Schooner, Maudlin House, BULL, Akashic Books Richmond Noir, Coal Hill Review, and other places. He is a Pushcart Prize nominee and an alumni of Virginia Commonwealth University. He lives and writes in Los Angeles. (See more at www.xcatkins.com and on IG @wolf_cassoulet)