Sprinkles

She turned off the bedside lamp in her Utah motel room. The cool, clean sheets felt good after a long day on the freeway, and she fell asleep in less than a minute.

Just after midnight the closet door swung open silently. He stepped out into the room and stood motionless for several moments, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing. In the moonlight that filtered through the gauzy curtains, he could see her chest rise and fall under the blankets. He felt himself relax.

Checking the door to make sure it was locked, he walked over to the side of the bed. He carefully picked up a pillow and folded it around the .22 automatic in his right hand. He always used the .22 because it rarely exited the skull once it entered. No muss, no fuss.

She startled him by taking a quick, snuffling breath, then she rolled over to her other side. But still she slept.

“Sarah,” he said.

“Hmm,” she said, still sleeping. Then she jerked awake and saw him. Scooting back against the headboard with a gasp, she covered her bare breasts with the sheet. He smiled, the dim light revealing the contours of his face. Yes, he thought. She recognized him. He raised the pillow-wrapped gun.

“Why…” she said.

He pulled the trigger and there was a muffled pop. The slug entered her head just above her right eyebrow, leaving a neat little black hole. She hadn’t even put a hand up to ward off the bullet, like most of them do. She fell over on her side, and a stream of blood slowly leaked across her forehead onto the clean white sheet. 

He threw the pillow on the floor and put the gun in his coat pocket. From his other pocket he withdrew a small white paper bag. Inside the bag was a chocolate donut. He pulled out the donut with a gloved hand and took a bite.

Walking slowly around the bed, he looked at the woman while he ate the donut. Crumbs and colorful sprinkles fell onto the carpet and the bedspread. That was okay. That was the whole idea.

Instead of popping the last bite into his mouth, he dropped it onto the carpet in front of the bathroom on his way to the door. He brushed the crumbs from his hands, buttoned up his long coat and looked around the room. Nothing amiss, outside of the nude, dead woman in the bed. He smirked and walked through the door, pausing momentarily to make sure it clicked shut behind him.

About the Author Ednor Therriault

Ednor Therriault placed 4th in the Napkin Microfiction Writing Contest in May 2021 with his micro piece, Sprinkles. He won a $50 cash prize.