TEXTING (any gender, early twenties to late fifties)
Oh crap, that's right.
Crap, crap, CRAP!
Okay listen. That sound on the phone? That's a text. Why would I set the alert as doom cords? Because that means it's mom & dad. I'm supposed to show off the apartment this afternoon. They're probably downstairs.
As we both can see, the apartment is not really presentable, is it? I need YOU to text them back for me. They don't do phone calls anymore, they only text, how ironic is that? And my hands are shaking too badly to be any use for texting.
Shaking. Funny huh?
The whole time I prep and serve you a poison martini, I didn't tremble once. But my parents show up downstairs and I'm shaking like a leaf. Probably tells you something about my upbringing, why I kill people, huh? Whatever. Our secret.
And it can be OUR secret if you text them for me. I'll tell you what to type, the excuse and all that... and then you can go free. I've got the antidote and you still have about three minutes. You text my parents, I give you the antidote, you walk out of here... I won't even make you clean up your blood or vomit, any of it.
You just need to- crap... you DO know how to text, don't you?
Copyright 2016 by Matt Haynes.
If you would like to use this piece, please credit: "Courtesy of Matt Haynes and The Pulp Stage"