"Black Flowers" by W.B. Vogel

"Black Flowers"


W.B. Vogel


It was a special night in Jeremy’s life.  He had waited all of his life for this night.  Everything had to be perfect, and he had grand plans for the end of this special evening.

He laid-out his best black suit with a classic white shirt and black tie.  His mother stepped into his room as he finished putting-on his suit.  She said, “Big date,” in sort of a whimsical yet sarcastic voice that comes naturally to every mother on earth.  “Dressed to kill,” Jeremy replied in a cold tone.  His mother was not amused, and Jeremy knew it.  That was why it pleased him so.

Grabbing his coat, Jeremy passed a mirror and took a good look at himself.  His shoes were shined, his suit was pressed, and his tie was perfect.  His ensemble was almost complete, but it was still missing something crucial to make it devastating.  From his drawer he pulled a Beretta 92 semi-auto 9mm. pistol.  He removed the clip and checked to make sure that it was loaded.  Each round glimmered with sheer brilliant ferocity.  The clip was slid back into the pistol until it locked into place with a noticeable click.  Everything was perfect.

Before Jeremy left he took one more glance in his mirror.  With a definite note of arrogance he said, “Damn, I am good.”  Then he was gone.

Before Jeremy went to meet his date he stopped by a flower shop.  He wanted something special; something that would make a definite statement.  For fifteen minutes he tooled around the flower shop.  “Not daisies, not posies, not lilacs,” he thought.  Finally he decided to ask the florist.  “What flowers do you have in black?” he asked.  

She said, “Roses, but that sends a message of hatred to whoever you give them to.”  

“That’s okay,” he replied, “She won’t complain.”  So he bought thirteen black roses, and had them wrapped in shiny, black paper.  Then he left to meet his special someone.

He drove to the edge of a large, grassy field that was surrounded by a tall rod-iron fence.  The sun would soon be down, and it would be time.  He reached into his suit coat and pulled-out his Beretta 92.  Grabbing the slide in his right hand, he pulled-back on it with a swift jerk.  As he let go the slide quickly slammed back into place, chambering a round as it did so.  Then he double checked to make sure that the safety was “off.”  All was ready, and it was time to go.

The gun he slipped back into his coat and the flowers he took in his right hand.  He straightened his tie as he crossed over into the field and passed through the gates.  Walking in this place was almost surreal: tall, uncut grass, dead trees everywhere, and a bleak mist that floated merely inches above the ground.  Stones rose like flowers in a garden.  Jeremy was becoming more than a little bit nervous.

He just reached her home as the sun climaxed behind the horizon.  Soon he saw a mist rising from the ground, and clawed hands broke through the surface of the putrid soil.  There she stood in a gown of flowing white stained with time and evil deeds.  She was both dreadful and beautiful to behold.

“I hope that I was not too early,” Jeremy stated.  She began to hiss, and then her voice shifted into a gentle, feminine sigh.  To look into her eyes was death, and Jeremy knew it.  But it was difficult to resist such a tempting package, no matter how deadly.

She slowly placed her hands over her cold, dead heart and ran them down her curvaceous body.   A man could get lost in those curves, and just like a mountain road he could die in them as well.  Jeremy had to be wiser than that.

“I thought we were to meet at the restaurant,” she said in a seductive yet demonic tone.  “I wasn’t quite ready for your arrival,” she mused.  Then she smiled an innocent little smile that would have made the Devil think twice.

Jeremy was beginning to weaken.  He could feel her mental powers breaking his will down one tiny piece at a time.  If he waited too long he would be no more than an appetizer.  It was time to get down to business.

He extended his right arm slowly and said, “I couldn’t resist getting you some flowers...”  Then he hurled them at her face.  

Sweeping her left arm widely she snagged the black flowers and flung them away from her body.  The rose thorns dug deeply into her undead flesh, and wherever they pricked her the skin whelped and blistered.  She screamed and hissed in pain.

Jeremy, thinking quickly, retrieved the gun from his coat and leveled it at her chest.  He peeled-off three shots before she knew what had even hit her.  Her hissing growl of pain was drowned by the sound of the gurgling blood expunging into her throat. 

After she hit the ground, Jeremy stepped closer to her.  He was now standing at her head.  She strained as the life slowly dripped away from her body.  

“Wasn’t expecting that were you,” Jeremy stated.  Then he said, “Regular bullets don’t do the job, but silver works just fine.  It works just as well on vampires as it does werewolves, but I don’t believe in werewolves.”  Then he smiled.

“I thought the black flowers were appropriate.  Afterall, I was going to a funeral, and thirteen is my lucky number,” he said.  Then he paused, and said, “You were beautiful, but you were no Neve Campbell.  I am very particular in my taste for women, and getting killed is not something that I was looking for in a lady.  What can I say?  I’m just funny that way.  You should not have messed with my friends.  I have a rule: No white clouds in my blue sky.”  Then he fired two more shots into her face to make sure she was dead. 

He stood over her as her body instantly decomposed to dust before his very eyes.  Then he straightened his tie and said, “It’s a beautiful night...I think I’ll go and a find myself a lady.” 



Written by W.B. Vogel.
Copyright © 1999. All rights reserved.

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