The Last Waltz

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Cover image: pixabay.com.

Submitted: December 28, 2019

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Submitted: December 28, 2019

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The Last Waltz

I arrive late. I always do. And I arrive in such style all eyes will be upon me for a couple of seconds. I know, that’s really not so long to attract attention for, but it is long enough for me to select my partner for the evening.

They won’t know, of course. It’s so much more effective when it comes as a surprise.

I’m dressed to impress, in a seductive kind of way. I’ll show enough skin to arouse... interest, but not too much. That would never do. One thing I most definitely not, is cheap. Once my eye has been caught and my mind made up all the other guys might as well not exist.

Looks, I find, are very much over-rated, and besides, they simply don’t last. No, I have made my selection because of the smile on his face. He has such a carefree air about him, as though his life is totally trouble-free.

I always like a challenge.

The music is fast, loud, thrumming through the air. Bodies are gyrating, arms pumping, feet moving; it’s okay to watch but so tiring to join in with. I’d much rather save up my energy for later and content myself with being a spectator.

I let my eyes drift around the dance floor, while I sip my drink. Bloody Mary, heavy on the vodka, it’s really quite intoxicating after three or four. Don’t get the impression that I’m drunk, for believe me, I am deadly serious and one hundred per cent sober. In my line of work it doesn’t pay to be sloppy.

He dances with a multitude of women. That’s good, for it means there is no one special present. This man keeps that smile on his face no matter who his partner is. Young or old, beautiful or almost ugly, he presents to each of them his happy-go-lucky expression.

There are plenty of other men that, if I’m honest about it, I’d far rather take the last waltz with. One man in particular looks as though he has stepped from a fashion shoot, and I can see from his face that he knows it too. It would definitely be a pleasure to be in his arms for that special moment, but no, I’ve made my decision and I’m going to stick to it.

The lights have been dim all along, but the music is only now starting to slow. I make my way over to him, and it’s so easy. He doesn’t ask my name or anything but just takes me in his arms for that last waltz.

I’m practised at this now, know to let my head fall on to his shoulder before I turn and suck the blood from his neck.

I’ll leave him seated on one of the seats. No one will notice that he’s dead, and unlike my entrance no one will notice my departure.

 

 


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