Spilling Cider

Creative writing submission

By Xandra Button

Content warning: mention of violence

Image: Andrew Martin from Pixabay

Cider, spilling from the bottle’s mouth.

I see it clearly from my hiding place. That stupid bottle, knocked over as I rushed through the living room. It could ruin everything. Thankfully, hiding between the door and the wall has put a barrier between myself and the man parading around the house.

Footsteps edge closer to the bedroom door. Don’t find me.

I hold my breath as his black boots bypass my door and enter the living room. Tendrils of cider, reaching towards him. He places a napkin over the spill, and a laugh almost escapes me. He still thinks he’s alone.

The moment comes sooner than expected. Black boots turn and walk straight into the bedroom. Luckily, the curtains are drawn. Some ambience is good for these things.

I give him three steps before my knife slides deliciously across his throat.