General Fiction posted November 6, 2016


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A man bursts into a diner and demands coffee

Pour another cup

by oliver818


The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.

Cafe-au-lait coloured leaves and tiny drops of rain sprayed the floor as the door burst open with a bang. Bright eyes stared out from a dark, grey hood. The door swung back behind him, closing with a bang.

"Give me some fucking coffee," a gruff voice hurled at the counter.

A look of irritation crossed Mary's face. She looked at her watch. Four am. The thin paperback that had been giving her a small amount a solace on that cold, wet and lonely night, smacked down on the counter. She had long got used to this kind of attitude and, as some guests had learnt the hard way, she could give as good as she got. A small smile flickered across her lips as she remembered the look on the obnoxious bastard's face two nights earlier after she put him in his place.

The coffee pot steamed as she crossed the diner. The snarling bugger had taken a seat in the corner booth. His hood had been slipped back and his long, blond hair ran softly down over his shoulders. If he had a few manners, he would be almost attractive, she thought to herself.

She stopped in front of him. He didn't look up.

"Hurry the fuck up," he whispered. His eyes were staring straight down at the table. A few stray grains of sugar scratched over the table under his thick index finger.

"What did you say to me?"

"You fucking heard me."

"You know what, I'm not going to give you any coffee. In fact, you're lucky I don't pour this coffee on your crotch, you pathetic excuse for a man."

"I just killed someone."

"Yeah right. And I'm Santa Claus."

His eyes turned to her. For the first time she noticed the criss-cross of tiny blood vessels.

"I don't lie. Ever."

"Okay. Let's say you did kill someone. Is that supposed to excuse your behaviour?"

"No. I don't believe in excuses. But I really need a cup of coffee and if this is the only way to get one, then I suppose I don't have a choice."

"Don't have a choice about what?"

"About telling you my story."

She considered putting him in his place, but something in his face, a sort of lonely sadness, told her there was something more to this.

"Well, if you have to. Just make it quick."

"You might want to sit down."

"I'll stand."

"Suit yourself. Anyway, it began about twenty years ago. I was still a kid, lying in bed, listening to the wind howling outside. It was autumn, the harvest was in and we'd spent the day tidying up bits and pieces around the farm, covering equipment, cutting wood, that kind of thing. I was pleasantly tired, and my eyes were just beginning to close when I heard my Dad begin to shout. That was weird as we lived alone. My Mom had died a few years earlier, and we had no close neighbours so I really didn't know who he could be shouting at. It didn't last long, just a brief exchange of words. I was about to get up and sneak downstairs when I heard a loud bang followed by footsteps stomping up the stairs. They weren't my Dad's. Terrified, I leapt out of bed and hid myself in my wardrobe."

The seat creaked as Mary lowered herself into it. The drops of water on the man's coat hadn't evaporated yet, and as Mary watched him, a few trickled down and rolled down his left hand. He didn't seem to notice.

"My bedroom door burst open and a woman's voice began to shout. I ignored it, but the voice grew louder. I heard the quilt on my bed tumble to the floor, a few toys were thrown or kicked across the room, and then a shadow was in front of the wardrobe door. 'Get out here kid, I ain't going to ask you again.' I held my breath, and tears began to flow down my face."

The first drops of coffee bounced as they hit the bottom, and then the black liquid swirled up and up as it filled the cup. A hint of a smile crossed Mary's lips.

"Keep going."

"You might want to have one yourself. My treat."

"I get coffee for free, but thanks."

Coffee splashed into a second cup.

"The door opened and I pissed myself. She was a big woman. She looked me in the face and then dragged me out of the closet and threw me onto the floor. 'I just killed your old man, boy. I don't kill kids, or I'd shoot you too. But I want you to know why I killed him. Your Dad was a bad man. Ten years ago he killed my Dad. I bet you didn't know that. But I found him, and I've got my revenge now. And you'll never see me again.' And with that, she left."

The coffee cup met his lips and the entire contents flowed down his throat. Mary reached out and poured him another cup.

"Let me guess. You just found her and killed her."

"Yep. It took me twenty years, but I finally got revenge for my Dad."

"How did you find her?"

"Just by chance. I stopped in that flower shop around the corner and there she was. Staring right at me. I got her business card, went home, and found her home address online. Turns out she lives just about the shop. So I got my gun, and came back thirty minutes ago and shot her."

"Wait, did you say the flower shop around the corner?"

"Yeah, Dickson's flowers."

"Oh no, oh my god, you didn't, please tell me it's not true."

Her coffee cup tumbled over as she pushed herself up from the table. The dark liquid flowed over the side as she ran to the door. The cold, wet wind howled in as it opened and she threw herself out into the night. Long clumps of wet, hazelnut hair clung to her face. For a moment bright, flashing lights blinded as she rounded the corner. Then she saw the police cars. And the ambulance. Rain water dribbled off the body bag lying on the stretcher in the back of it.

"No, no, no, Mom," echoed out into the night before being drowned out by the biting torrents of cold rain.

Suddenly, the memory of the hooded figure bursting into the diner came back to her. Her head swung back, her eyes wide with rage.

"You fucking monster," she screamed up into the dark torrents.

Blinded by tears, she clung to the body of her deceased mother. Through the tears, sobs, and and rain, she saw a figure fleeing into the night and a promise was made.

"You won't get away with this."








At The Diner writing prompt entry
Writing Prompt
Write a story about something that takes place in a diner at 4 in the morning.

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Artwork by dragifortuna at FanArtReview.com

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