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JAMES HARRIS
Ten Items or Less Just when you find what you’re looking for, it’s nabbed from you and taken away. I thought I was on to a real winner, a real sort. She was the kind of bird you fancied as a kid, the girl next door type. Week in, week out, I’d seen this girl shopping in my local supermarket, picking from the shelves, stretching for the items nearly out of reach. Christ, I'd resorted to coming to this god-forsaken place three evenings a week- just to see her stretch for those tins- the sad fucker I am. Visit a supermarket after work, early evening and you’ll witness all the desperados circling the store like animals on parade in a market. The singles with their baskets containing micro meals, enough supplies to perhaps last a couple of days so they could venture back as soon as possible. Hell, I’m the same now, although a few weeks back I’d started to get the look from a stunner I had previously noticed. Real slim, pouty lips, ash blonde hair straight from the bottle, white stilettos, short maroon skirt complete with slit up the side… boy do I have classy taste! I even timed my shop so I’d end up behind her in the “Ten Items or Less checkout”- proper stalker me. I hadn’t tasted success with the ladies since my last girlfriend, Gemma. She was alright that one. She'd go all night; wasn't fully satisfied until she saw the sun come up. But she wasn’t prepared to up and leave everything to move to this tiny shithole town they call Burgess Hill. Can’t say I blame the girl either. They nick name it “Bugger’s Hole”- pretty apt if you ask me. My new job pretty much demanded the move and I needed the extra income; there was a chance of promotion too so I’d thought it best. Adios nookie, hola wank mags, and trusty imagination. So this blonde that had clocked me made her way over in the sauces isle, looking for a bolognaise mix. “Is it just me, or do all us types hang around this isle after work” she said smiling; she proceeded to lift a packet from the shelf. She knew I was watching the way she arched her back as she’d reached up; probably seen me countless times before. I managed a feeble laugh. “Nothing but micro meals and pasta,” I returned. “On the contrary,” she said, motioning towards her basket. Apart from the usual, I noticed fresh veg and fruit. “Nikki,” she continued, holding out her hand. With pleasure I reciprocated. “Matt,” I said, noticing how delicate her hands were and how her wedding finger was ring less. She smiled and held my stare, her eyes suggesting need, the mischievous look of a naughty child. Who’s your Daddy? I thought and grinned. Nikki then interrupted my pervy chain of thought. “I cook a mean chili bolognaise y’know. None of that stodgy shit you’re gonna eat. It’s great with beer too.” “Is that an invite to a culinary delight, a genius’ masterpiece?” I mocked. She laughed and I appreciated the way her breasts wobbled under her top. Not fat wobbly, bra-less wobbly… the best kind of wobbly. Anyway, I didn’t get the invite back to her gaff. However, I had the offer of a drink in the nearest bar. See how it goes, I thought. I know the look when I see it. After a few drinks she’ll be begging for me try her chili… After a few more drinks, she’ll be begging for… So after some bullshit cut-to-the-chase small talk, we ended up in the “Ten Items or Less” checkout queue, my basket full of the stodgy shit, Nikki’s full of wholesome goodness. Like a single bloke can be done with all that cooking malarkey, all that preparation. Not me mate. Just chuck it in the microwave and switch on the box. Watch for the totty in the soaps while you wait the eight minutes for your zapped delight. This Nikki bird stood in front of me in the queue; her arse was a real picture. Her calves were flawless apart from a tacky dragon tattoo, its long tail wrapping around and down to her ankle. I was imagining how great her thighs would look without the skirt when she looked over her shoulder and turned. “That blokes got more than ten items,” she said. Snapping my eyes away from her legs, I looked up. “Eh?” I replied, trying not to look down her cleavage. “Him, with the black T-shirt; he’s got way more than ten items,” she continued looking uneasy, frantic. Now, I’ve always thought I was a fairly good judge of character, but this little cutie had a mean streak, a real sense of moral righteousness. Her attitude changed as fast as the wind. She knew how to turn it on, I’ll tell you that much. “Yeah, so what?” I said, smiling. “The checkout lady won’t have the balls to question it.” Before I could say anything else on the matter, Nikki was on this geezer’s case. “Hey you, black T-shirt, you’ve got more than ten items. Join another queue. We ain’t waiting around here all night for you to haul your weekly shop through.” The guy turned around. He appeared to be out of his nut. Shaky hands and nervous twitches suggested he was wired on something. I’d seen my fair share of drugged up fuck ups to know what I was seeing. His bottles of beer and spirits alone broke the ten item rule. What little food items there were mainly consisted of the fatty variety. “Fuck off,” he replied, feigning calmness. With arrogant confidence, he flicked his head and turned back to face the checkout, his long greasy fringe following suit like he was auditioning for a shampoo commercial. “Hey,” I said, holding Nikki back. “Calm down, I wouldn’t piss this guy off. Look at him, he’s slated.” Now everyone was watching and I felt my cheeks burn; my pulse made my face throb. I couldn’t believe it was happening; it was as though I wasn’t really there. “Tell me to fuck off? Join another queue!” Nikki broke free from me and confronted the agitated man. “Hey, ‘you listening to me? Move it!” The next few moments really were surreal; I watched the whole bizarre scene unfold in slow motion. The T-shirt man turned and hissed, “Fuck off I said!” Nikki, red faced, jabbed him with a finger and pulled at his sleeve. Oh fucking hell, I thought. Here we go, I'm gonna have to step in. Do the right thing and all that bollocks. Shit, I hardly even know this crazy bitch. One minute I was thinking how I was finally going to get the old boy wet, next I'm getting pulled into a fight with a geezer who looked as though he’d happily kill his own mum for a diet coke. T-shirt man then pushed Nikki towards me and she fell into my arms. “Hey, you stupid cunt! What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?!” I shouted. Women watched on with looks of disgust. I remember thinking, are they giving that look towards the fucked up druggie, or me for saying the word, cunt? That word is such a no go area with woman, I’ve noticed. Funny, I thought back to my ex. She’d had this swear box, and if I ever used the forbidden word I’d have to pay double. It’s weird what runs through your mind when you’re in a situation. I swear your mind tries to fuck you over for fun sometimes. Anyway, through all the confusion, Nikki was now swinging for the bloke. There was a proper audience too; women were gasping, the few men in the area nervously smiled at each other. Although the situation appeared to progress in a painfully slow sequence, simultaneously it all happened so damn fast. I couldn’t see at the time but the T-shirt man pulled something out from his back pocket and pushed it towards Nikki - I learned later on that it was one of those Italian stiletto flick knives. She gasped, fell back and turned as I caught her. The man bolted for the door; no one tried to stop the fucker either- including me I’m sorry to say- I was still suffering the slow motion affect, not a hundred percent sure I was even standing there. She looked up at me with wide, startled eyes. Her face looked as though it was trying to cry and smile at the same time. An ever growing red patch spread through the thin material of her top, her right breast suffering the blow. I gently laid her out on the floor where she remained perfectly still until the medical staff arrived. Even though the evening was cool and the hard, shiny floor must have been freezing to lie on, sweat poured down Nikki’s face. Part of me felt responsible for her; the other part told me to run away. I stayed, but all I could do was watch down over her as she shivered with shock; listen to her last few gurgled breaths as everyone else rushed around trying to help. So much for the fucking hero. So that was that. The fat lady of Nikki’s life had sung. Although medical help had arrived within five minutes, she had suffered severe shock and eventually drowned in her own blood from the knife wound to her chest. Apparently the blade had severed an artery as it punctured into her lung. They say shit happens but that really did take the piss. Such a nice piece of totty so unnecessarily wasted. They’d caught everything on the store camera. The T-shirt man was a paranoid schizo known previously to the police for shop lifting- nothing but a fucking crack addict with two charges of GBH under his belt. That bastard had taken a sure thing from me that evening- just my damn luck! Since then I’d given visiting the store a miss as far as shopping three times a week. I’d just stuck to shopping weekly; didn’t miss the “Ten Items or Less” checkout one little bit. But human nature soon kicks your hormones into gear- God’s design finally giving you the urge to multiply. Natural male instincts y’see; it can’t be helped. All the wank mags in the world are no substitute for real pussy. The 2-D fantasies soon grow tiresome. The way I was going, I would've ended up with arthritis of the wrist before I was thirty. So I’m standing in the queue with my weekly shop laid out on the conveyer belt. I’m just watching all the young mums and young checkout girls with a renewed vigour. The girl at the checkout sees me looking down her top and blushes. I look away and remember the way Nikki’s breasts wobbled under her top… bra less wobbly… the best wobbly. Grinning, I look away. Entering the store, a woman in her late twenties walks over to the lottery stand. She’s a real stunner, a right proper sort if you ask me. Nice tight little arse, perky tits, a set of pins you’d need hiking gear for to reach her snatch. She sees me looking and smiles. I return the smile, watching her bend over slightly as she pulls a lottery slip from the holder. I know she’s holding that sexy stance for me. I continue to ogle her as she fills in the slip… I can’t quite see if she’s wearing a ring. Well, I guess I’ll be popping in here more than usual. Guess I’ll be using the “Ten Items or Less” checkout sooner than I’d imagined too. James hails from sunny old Sussex in the UK. He has loved horror and mystery since day one. Ever since he witnessed the death of King Kong (aged four), he has loved the genre, watching and reading everything that is macabre and grim. He has been published in The New Camp Horror, Underground Voices, Whispers of Wickedness print and e.zine. His first and second attempts at fiction were published in Skive magazine. |
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© 2005 Underground Voices |
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