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Allen Sawyer

by Chelsey Louise

By Chelsey LouisePublished 2 years ago 4 min read
1

Before you read: This flash fiction horror story is my second reject from my newspaper submissions - here is the first. I consider it one of my creepier stories since the theme is obsession. Enjoy!

Audiobook

ALLEN SAWYER

There was no one more beautiful than Allen Sawyer— no one else came close: not to the way his chin jutted when he was angry or the way his eyes turned to slits while unraveling problems in his head. We could be perfect, the ideal couple lighting up the world in a symphony of color. I wanted nothing more than for him to be angry, or troubled, with me.

I scanned items at the register, watching Allen Sawyer climb from his car in the parking lot, his hair slicked down smooth with thick, plastic rims bouncing against his nose. His eyes were the color of a winter skyline, and it reminded me of ice sculptures hit by morning light, chipped away to perfection. I loved Allen Sawyer. I loved him so much it hurt sometimes.

The bell jingled when he walked in. Chin jutted. What upset him today? If it were his parents, I would have shouted until they scurried away like little rats in the walls. Could it be a friend? Someone he was seeing, perhaps? I clenched my fists and imagined the argument, their heightened words bouncing off the walls like sharpened knives. Oh, Allen Sawyer. Who did this to you?

The man in front of me took his groceries.

“Thank you,” I said, but he was watching Allen Sawyer. I slid my teeth together, back and forth, until I managed a low grumble, “Please come again.”

“Sorry.” The man gathered his groceries and limped to the door. He had been new in this town once, a blubbering fool asking for directions, but never fortunate enough to be adored like Allen. The air relaxed in his absence. It’s just us now, I thought. He will talk to me and realize that he feels the same way.

Allen grabbed an apple and half-gallon of milk— nothing out of the ordinary for someone who lived alone. The thought released butterflies in my gut and they fluttered violently: If he still lives alone, I have a chance. My back straightened as he approached, upright as a church pillar, as I moved items across the scanner. I branded the moment into my memory.

"I have a chance..."

“Anything else?” I wanted him to say yes. I would have fell to my knees and begged him to stay, if he wanted, crying hot tears until he smiled and took my hand.

"Allie," he nodded, reading my nametag. He pursed his lips. “Listen, I think I’m being followed.” His gaze wandered from the register, to the small apple stand, to the floor-length windows. A small crowd was gathered and was watching him buy groceries. They smiled at him, small children waddled and pressed their faces to the glass and their parents waved.

“Ignore them,” I huffed and shook my head. His eyes turned to slits. Today, Allen Sawyer had plenty on his mind, and the townspeople were making it worse— troubling him when he should be laughing with me, whispering about the town he moved from two days ago. His eyes met mine, and the world swayed under my feet. I raised my chin and said, “They follow you because they love you.”

“I should go." His chin jutted, and he threw a ten on the counter. "Keep the change.”

"I think I'm being followed..."

No, no, no. I wanted Allen to speak to me, to feel his smile slide across my face like an evening breeze— but not this. He was leaving, and who knew when I would see him again. I had to make him listen, to make him understand that we were made for each other.

“Wait!” I grabbed his arm. “I love you so much, Allen. Please don’t leave.

He stumbled back. The crowd at the window had doubled in size, and he looked from me to them in horror. That's it! He's grouping me with everyone else! Did he think their love was more valid than mine? More genuine and true?

He pulled away and slipped through my grip like ice. “I have to go."

Allen Sawyer ran to the door, but the crowd was waiting. They pulled off his glasses to reveal horror-struck eyes, and I realized they looked more green than blue in this light, a humid summer day swallowing the cool breeze. Allen called for help, and I watched from the door as he disappeared under their hands.

My shoulders relaxed. Now that I confessed my feelings, it was as though a weight had been lifted. Allen Sawyer did not want me. Even though it hurt, there would be someone that cared— someone who would move to town one day and love me back. The crowd wailed. Their beautiful Allen Sawyer had drawn his last breath.

I flipped the sign to closed.

Be sure to check out my first story on Vocal and see more posts on my blog.

fiction
1

About the Creator

Chelsey Louise

Twitch Partner turned writer. I like to write across all genres, leaning mostly toward fantasy, horror, and poetry.

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