Douglas sat on his bed, still wearing a vomit-stained Radiohead shirt from the night before.
Head pounding with newfound frustration, he glowered over the square of yellow paper.
It sat on his nightstand, its message was mockingly simple: Meet with girl in park at 10pm.
He sucked on his soul patch, still dusted with margarita salt, helplessly baffled.
Clearly, in last night’s drunken stupor, he felt this carried enough weight to be an obvious reminder.
Clearly, he was wrong.
He pulled the post-it off, and flipped it over. Nothing. Just more banal, useless yellow.
In his hungover state, he couldn’t help but be furious at himself for being pointlessly vague.
How hard is it to write down a name? What’s her number? Where in the park? Anything!
He rubbed his temples, hoping to massage out an image of last night that might establish some context.
He remembered talking to a girl, no face or name, just the aroma of sweat and rose-scented perfume.
With a final surrendering grunt, he crumpled the note, and stripped out of his soiled clothes.
He showered, ate, and found clean clothes. Determined to pursue this booze-fueled, potential romance.
He knew he shouldn’t worry, his judgements were still reasonably sound during uninhibited moments.
But, he couldn’t shake the feelings he got when he thought of the girl, something she said to him.
It gave him a haunting, uncomfortable feeling. Something to do with her ex-boyfriend...
But, he was determined. He’d go to the park tonight. In vain confidence of his drunken judgements.
As he pulled into the darkened parking lot, he spotted a light in the treeline at the edge of the park.
She must have gotten there first, he reasoned, looking for a good place to hide away from onlookers.
Douglas grinned, now full of self-assurance and cocky pride. Apparently, he made a good impression.
As he strutted down the empty field, his stride stuttered. He hoped he didn’t promise to bring drinks.
He picked a few flowers from a nearby garden-bed, determined to craft some false air of tenderness.
The brisk evening air helped him keep calm, avoiding thoughts of the outcome of the evening.
He followed the light deeper into the woods, finally coming into a dimly moonlit patch of grass.
A figure holding a flashlight was at the center of the clearing, walking into a rotting gazebo.
Douglas eagerly pursued. Meeting with a girl, late at night, under the light of the moon, totally secluded?
He had seen enough romantic comedies to know that was always a good sign for things to come.
As he crept up the creaking wooden steps, he spotted her standing at the center of the shelter.
Even in the mold-encrusted dampness, he could smell the same floral perfume from his foggy memory.
She was facing him and, as dark as it was, he could only just see the glimmer of her glossy, pink lips.
He lifted up the flowers in an awkward attempt at a romantic greeting, but she just stood still.
He managed a shaky: “Nice night, yeah?” The girl dropped to the ground limply in response.
Douglas ran over, and kneeled down, laughing. Figuring she was just drunk. “Y’alright?” No response.
He shook her, worrying she had passed out. Her body was cold, and hard. Blood caked her mouth.
He noticed a set of knees at eye level. A hand holding something that glinted, crimson in the moonlight.
A quick breeze rushed past his ear, spraying him with a metallic scent. Then, he noticed a sharp pain.
The pain grew from a cleaver that been set deep into his shoulder. A damp chill spread outward from it.
That’s when he remembered what she said that had bothered him: My ex-boyfriend just got out of jail.
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