Fast Fiction: Don't Stare
Richard Mallinson's tale tells of a menacing conversation in a side street.
There were two of them, a man and a woman. They were outside the off-licence when I went in but they'd gone when I came out.
As I walked down a side street I sensed that I was being followed. I turned round. 'What d'you want?' I asked.
The woman was wearing a T-shirt with 'Don't stare' on it.
'Whisky,' said the man. He was grubby, unshaven.
'It's not whisky,' I said, twitching the plastic bag, 'it's brandy.'
'Well, we'll take the brandy,' said the woman.
I looked from her to the man. 'Say something,' I said to him.
'I have nothing to say.'
'Ah,' I said, 'you're not from these parts, are you?'
'No, I -'
'Shut up, Orlo,' said the woman.
'Now,' she said to me, 'are you going to hand over the brandy or not? Orlo has a knife, haven't you, Orlo? And now -'
'There's someone coming,' I said, wildly.
I ran until I reached another street and then another.
They were waiting for me when I got home and now they are in the kitchen drinking my brandy. I am in the corner, tied up.
Every so often they turn and stare at me.
