Kiki's Delivery Service

flash fiction

I met a girl who looked familiar. I said, “You look familiar, but I can’t—,” and she said, “I look like Kiki from Kiki’s Delivery Service. I know. I get it a lot.”

“Have you considered plastic surgery?” I asked.

She said that she had considered it, but had ultimately decided that she would be throwing away far too valuable a conversation piece. Then she said, “You ever seen a shallow grave?” I woke up several hours later in what appeared to be a shallow grave. Shallow graves get a bad rap, they’re quite manageable for the buried alive. I was able to sift through dirt on top of me and sit up; I have excellent abdominal strength, so I didn’t use my arms. I called my dealer and said, “Hey man, I need a buzz. You free?”

He was not free, he was imprisoned, and I was talking to the cop who had his phone. He started asking a bunch of questions about who I was and where I was and it seemed rather uncharismatic to me so I hung up and hitched my way back into the city.