For this exercise, I was asked to create a flash-fiction story that started with the sentence, "When I found the leg, I knew it was going to be a bad day." and ends with "Finally, we were free.". I was inspired by the book "John Dies at the End" by David Wong.
When I found the leg, I knew it was going to be a bad day. It took me a minute to realize what I had been cuddling with in my sleep, and once I did, I made my way to my bathroom to heave the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Coming to my senses, I tried to remember what had happened last night.
Why do I have a severed leg? I thought. I have to call Jeff. Maybe he knows what happened last night.
I made my way to my phone, hoping that my best friend Jeff was awake to take my call when I noticed the red flashing light. I had a message. I pressed the play button.
“Max! Maximus,” Jeff’s voice slurred its way drunkenly through the phone speaker, “Listen, we got the son-uma-bish. Whatever you do, do not lose the legs! I got everything else, just keep them safe, buddy. I had an awesome time tonight by the way….night. Oh, wait! Meet me at MacLarren’s in the morning. At, I dunno, nine I guess. Bring the legs!” Beep.
I stared at the machine unsure of what I just heard. Nothing made sense right now. And Jeff had told him to keep the legs safe. Plural. As in more than one. The clock on the far wall read 8:30am, giving me a half-hour to get to MacLarren’s to meet Jeff and figure out what was going on.
Grabbing a trash bag from the kitchen, I headed to the bedroom to bag the severed leg that just minutes ago I had been sharing intimate space with. It was a pale color that no living thing could ever achieve, topped by a very sloppy wound where it had been removed from its owner. As I reached down to grab it, it kicked me. It’s still alive!
I was sick and tired of this day, and I had only just woken up. My head was throbbing from a hangover from a night of drinking that I couldn’t even remember. I just had to get rid of the leg as soon as possible so that my life could return to at least a little bit of normalcy. A few minutes passed before I managed to get the wriggling leg into the trash bag.
Mission a-fucking-ccomplished, I thought to myself as I stormed into the kitchen. I grabbed my keys from the counter and opened the door to the driveway. The second the door opened, a mighty foot, armed with a penny loafer, swung down and kicked me square in the nose. The other damned leg, I suddenly recalled. I hopped on its own in the cocky way that severed legs never do, until I wrestled it to the ground and put it in the trash bag. I put them in the trunk and drove to MacLarren’s, nursing my bloody nose.
I pulled up next to Jeff, who stood in front of MacLarren’s pub, which was closed this early in the morning. He wore a mile-long smile on his face. The bastard.
“Max! You got my message!” He exclaimed, “Do you have the legs?”
I replied, “Of course I have the legs, they are in the trunk. What the hell happened last night? Why do I even have these legs? Oh, and want to explain why they are moving?”
“You don’t remember? Such a lightweight. We totally went vampire hunting last night, you know, for fun, cause we were trashed, and we actually found one! I didn’t even know they existed! I have the rest of him in the car, I just gave you the legs so he couldn’t run away.”
I rubbed my temples in irritation. “We gotta get rid of him.”
“Why do you think I brought us here? I got the fire pit that the bar burns its trash in going. Come on!” He dragged a large cardboard box from out of his pickup truck’s bed and hurried it off to the back of the bar, a muffled shouting emanating from inside of the box.
The fire was roaring and hot, the flames causing my forehead to break out in a sweat even from afar. Together, we tossed our prisoner into the burning pit. A scream broke out that drowned the sound of the fire out completely. It went on for minutes before finally dying off.
“So,” Jeff said, “Wanna grab some drinks?”
Finally, we were free.