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The Chickening - Part 7

Veronica Volt's picture
Submission type:

        A few hours before…

So many ideas. New ideas, new experiments, new thoughts. In the middle of the hotel lounge, Veronica walked around the large desk thinking, then walked around again before she sat again on the chair and began to write more on the paper. She filled the paper and grabbed another, writing fast. So many ideas! How long had she worked, when did she last time sleep?

So many ideas! So many, no time to sleep, sleep.

A corridor.
At the end of the corridor are two large chickens.
Chicken eyes watch Veronica.
The chickens opens the beaks and inside her head Veronica hears them.
    ‘Hallo Veronica, come and lay with us. Come and lay with us Veronica.’
Chickens, watching, chickens, chopped into pieces, chicken pieces, chicken nuggets, chickens standing, watching, closer, closer..
    ‘Für immer und immer und immer…”
The corridor, purple juice flows like a wave, more, more, purple filling the corridor to cover her…

Veronica awoke, her head lay on the desk. She sat up and screamed. She looked around her as if looking for something, dark around her eyes, so difficult to sleep, the dreams, the nightmares. Perhaps the mind was playing the tricks. The chickens…

Veronica stood, her legs felt numb. She shook her legs then walked out of the lounge and along the corridor. She pushed the doors open to the ballroom and stepped inside. It was a very large room. Did people make a fun party here in the days before? Music? Dancing? No party today. Only Veronica. A tired, unable to sleep Veronica. She walked to the bar and sat on a barstool and looked to the empty shelves and counter. She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

Floyd was standing behind the bar, dressed in a white shirt, black bowtie and a blood red jacket. His eyes looked to Veronica. He smiled.

‘Hi Floyd,’ Veronica said. ‘It is quiet today?’ she added with a little laugh.
‘Yes, it is Miss Volt,’ Floyd said still smiling, the shelves behind him now filled with bottles. ‘What will it be?’
‘I am glad you ask Floyd,’ Veronica said. ‘Because there are some gold chips in my hand. I thought they will still be here next month. What do you have to drink Floyd?’
‘I have a red rum.’
‘Red rum?’
‘Red rum.’
‘Hmm, no thank you. Perhaps you can find for me a soda please Floyd? Unless you are too busy.’
‘No, Miss. I am not busy at all.’

Floyd put a glass on the counter and filled it with purple soda from a bottle. Veronica did not see him get the bottle. Floyd stood smiling at Veronica. The bottle now gone.

‘Good, thank you.’ Veronica opened her hand. It was empty. ‘Oh, it seem the chips are not with me. How is my credit?’
‘Your credit is fine, Miss Volt.’
‘That is great Floyd! I always liked you. You are the best bartender from Berlin to Hope Springs.’ She took the soda and sipped.
‘Thank you for saying so Miss.’

Veronica felt cold air behind her. She looked back to the doors. Was somebody there? Suddenly walk away? She turned back to Floyd.

‘Who was that Floyd?’ she asked the bartender.
‘One of the guests, Miss,’ replied Floyd.
‘A guest? Here? In the hotel?’
‘Yes, Miss Volt. I believe, in Room 237.’
‘Room 237?’ Veronica said interested. What was it about that room she was to remember? She did not remember.

Veronica put the soda back on the counter and jumped from the barstool. ‘Keep my soda safe Floyd,’ she said. ‘I will come back.’

‘No problem Miss Volt,’ Floyd said with a smile. ‘Room 237,’ he reminded her.

‘Room 237,’ Veronica muttered as she walked to the doors and left the ballroom. ‘Room 237.’


Hyle Troy's picture

This is fascinating, King size fascinating..  Loving it so far !

I would rather die peacefully in my sleep, like Grandad, than screaming, like his passengers

Joe Spivey's picture

Yes yes! V V's world is fantastically surreal. Wonderland with a Dali backdrop.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

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