Watermelon Sugar Die

The Stranger

Dazzling in his tailored jacket, his unmistakable curls fluttering boldly, Harry set upon the cobblestone of the small village. He was hungry to be seen, and it was only a few steps onto the walk before a paunchy, white-haired man stopped him. Yet, it wasn't a famous face that the man recognized, but beauty.

The man tipped his head, "Why, hello."

Harry ran the watermelon lolly over his already pink lips. "Hello," he answered.

He couldn't believe his fortune, this shapeless and aging stranger. His glances had not been welcomed since he was tan, tone, showing his smooth shoulders in a tank top. That was thirty years ago. Maybe longer. And maybe never welcomed by such a tall and dapper, candy-eating  prince.

Harry nodded to his white car, waiting in the car park near a sewing supply shop. It was closed, perhaps because it was Sunday, or perhaps, it was because few people needed sewing supplies anymore. He moved toward the vehicle, and he could hear the clicking heels of the stranger behind him.

The man didn't jump when Harry locked the doors. His eyes were fixed on the glistening, heart shaped lips, the tongue casually teasing the lolly. Harry pulled the sucker from his mouth by the stick, and he pushed it through the slit between the stranger's thin lips. The stranger raised his brows and accepted the candy that had been flirtily pushed into his mouth, but Harry didn't stop pushing. The man began to choke as the round, sucker hit the back of his throat. He grabbed Harry's gloved hand and forced it and the lolly back. The man pulled at the door handle, pounded it with his shoulder.  He had just begun to say, "Open this door," but Harry had encircled his sagging neck with those strong, gloved hands, choking the command from his victim. The stranger clawed at Harry's sleeves, punched at his arms, but Harry had been fortified by the sight of his own elegant hands at work, and the blue tint rising in the stranger's lips. 

The stranger grew slack and slid down the passenger seat, but Harry knew not to loosen his hold yet. He squeezed the man's neck all the tighter. In the early days, he'd made the mistake of releasing his hands too soon, and he'd have to repeat all his actions again. And the longer you're in one place, the riskier these ventures could become.

Harry was sweating and panting with effort by the time he let the stranger fall to the floor board, but he was laughing, too. It was an unbeatable release. "Let's take a ride to my favorite lake," he'd said to the corpse on the floorboard. "They won't find you as quickly as they found dear Hennie. No. I learned from that. Cinder blocks in the trunk," he gestured with a hooked thumb.

He unwrapped a fresh pink sucker, and drove the stranger to his final resting place.