Tweeprose: ‘The One That Got Away’ by A. N. Gretly (for @MonaBassel)

Allen Baker fantasized about it over and over again, he obsessed about it so much that the mere thought of it gave him chills. He realized that he’d been preparing for it all this time with all the others, and when he decided to go through with it this time, it felt right. Allen got into his pickup truck and drove to Creekwell City. The cool gentle air wafted inside his truck, caressing his sweat-drenched skin, and giving him promises of the night to come. He wore a ripped pair of jeans, and an unbuttoned red plaid shit with an old pale white shirt underneath.

Baker drove his truck down 62nd Street where he slowed down, and peered outside the passenger seat’s window. There they all were, the ladies of the Meat Market spread out along the side of the road, advertising their products; most had their thighs bare, and their breasts hanging low due to years and years of rough fondling without any maintenance. Allen Baker searched for her amongst the women, who walked along with his truck, pressing themselves against the glass, waving, winking, and biting their lips. He couldn’t find her, and for a moment, he thought he’d missed her. He was about to curse himself, but then he caught a glimpse of that slender body further along the road. He pressed the accelerator, and caught up with her. He slowed down right next to her, and opened the passenger window.

“Wanna  fuck, baby-doll?” Allen said.

““You’re gonna do it anyway,” the blue-eyed girl said “I might as well get paid for it.”

And she hopped into the truck, and they rolled away, making a sharp left turn at the corner of 42nd and Saint Martin’s.

“What’s your name, honey?” Allen asked.

“They call me Angel Eyes.” The girl answered.

Allen stared at her legs in those fishnet stockings, and felt the blood rushing through his veins; he pressed on the gas and headed towards his farm right outside Creekwell.


Allen’s farm wasn’t really a farm, not anymore. The rundown cottage stood surrounded by a few acres of dry land just past the edge of the city, about a mile off the highway. The pickup truck stopped in front of the house, and they got out. Allen led the blue-eyed girl inside the cottage, and turned on the lights. The cottage consisted of one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room, and a basement. A single lightbulb hung by a wire from the ceiling lit the living room; they entered, and Allen motioned the girl to sit on the couch. She sat there cross-legged, and lit a cigarette.

“How about it then?” Baker asked.

“How about it?” The girl said with a smiled.

“You wanna do it here, or in the bedroom?”

“Wherever, sweetie.”

Allen sat next to her on the couch. He placed his left hand on her thigh, and ran it up to her crotch.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said looking into her angelic eyes.

“Oh, thank you.”

He cupped her small  breast with his other hand, and squeezed gently. He touched his arm, running her long fingernails up and down his skin.

“You’re so beautiful, I almost don’t wanna do this,” Allen whispered “But who am I kidding?”

“What do you mea—agh!”

She couldn’t finish. Allen Baker’s fist landed right on the bridge of her nose, and she immediately blacked out. Allen stood up, and took a few deep breaths.

This is happening, he thought, this is real.

Allen punched her a few more times, crushing her nose before he picked her up off the couch, and carried her to the basement, leaving a trail of blood from her broken nose. Allen tied her hands together, and then hung her  from a beam with her feet barely touching the ground. He studied the shape of her body, then ran his fingertips on her soft skin. He grabbed her by the hair, and kissed her hard. He didn’t mind that rusty taste of blood on her lips, in fact, he loved it. Allen stepped away after a few minutes, and stared at her once more. He turned away, and walked towards the cabinet at the corner of the basement. Allen opened its wooden doors, and searched for his carving knife amid a heap of clothes that belonged to his other victims. After a few minutes, he found the knife at the bottom on the cabinet, he grabbed it and turned to Angel Eyes. She hung there like a piece of meat waiting to be chopped down by expert hands. One didn’t need to be a professional to know how to cut meat, but Allen Baker did indeed have the experience for he worked at some time at Butch the Butcher’s store in Creekwell before what happened.  He walked towards the unconscious girl, taking his time with his strides. Allen placed the blade on her tender skin of her neck, and kissed her once more. He closed his eyes, and enjoyed the taste of her blood in his mouth. When he opened his eyes, he saw the girl’s blue eyes staring back at him. The shock made him take a few steps back, and that’s when he felt her knee strike him right in the groin. Allen howled in pain grabbing his crotch as he fell to the ground on his side. He looked at her, but she wasn’t there. He searched the room left and right, but still, he couldn’t find her. Allen looked up, and saw her on top of that beam, fiddling at the rope that held her there with her teeth. The pain was excoriating, it started in his crotch, and exploded in his belly. He tried to get up, but out of no where, he felt a kick in his head. He looked up as the blood ran down his face, and saw Angel Eyes standing over him with a razor blade in her mouth. She kicked him once more, and he felt his front teeth break.

“Don’t kill me.” He begged.

“I’m not gonna kill you, you piece of shit.” Angel said “I’m just gonna give you something to remember me by.”

She bent down, and sliced him across the face with that blade. Allen Baker screamed from the pain, and the blood blinded his left eye. The girl stood up again, and hid the razor blade under her long fingernail.

“You scum.” She said.

And with that, she kicked him in the face once more, and knocked him out.

Now you see it, now you don’t.


About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Prose, Tweeprose and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s