Another Short Fiction Piece

Back again!

Here's a little short story draft I wrote for my Fiction Workshop this weekend. I'm not very pleased with it. Particularly the ending. (By the way, I am editing all these fiction and poetry drafts and I plan to repost revised ones, so your comments actually do go a long way) Sorry again about the crappy formatting (anyone know how to fix it?):

“Tracy! Open the damned door!”
Derek slammed his fist against the apartment door. His backwards Lakers cap pressed sweat to his forehead and his breath smelled of Southern Comfort.
Tracy was sitting on the bed in her bright blue skirt, her blonde wig and half-cape with tears rolling down her slender cheeks.
“Tracy! Please, let’s talk about this, okay?” Derek gave up on knocking and slumped with his back against the door. “Can we just talk, Trace?”
Tracy was no fool. She couldn’t open the door and let her neighors see that Blue Bonnet, the gorgeous superhero, was living in an efficiency and dating some average looking guy with love handles and a five o’clock shadow. She knew letting Derek sit outside in the yellow wallpapered hallway would help her cool off a bit. She also knew he had been cheating on her.
Derek had stopped calling out to Tracy. He was answering text messages with a curt not now or I’ll call you later and after her seven minute wardrobe change, he was relieved when she finally opened the door. Tracy, now in tight fitting jeans and a Syracuse sweatshirt watched Derek stand and tuck his cellphone away.
“Thank God… Look Tra--” She slapped him.
“Are you still texting her, dammit?” Her face contorted and her eyes welled up again.
“No. No! I don’t even-- look, there’s no her, okay?” He massaged his red cheek and cleared his throat. “Can I come in? Please?”
Tracy answered by opening the door a little wider to let him pass. She crossed her arms while he walked past the mirrored closet and the bathroom. He made his way to bed at the far end of the one room apartment. He quickly realized she probably didn’t want him there, pulled a chair from the round breakfast table under the odd art deco hanging lamps and sat there instead. She sat back on the bed.
“Trace, I didn’t sleep with anyone.”
“I don’t believe you.” She frowned. Her round face and soft, upturned nose didn’t suit anger or jealousy.
“I didn’t!” Derek waved a hand palm up at her. “I don’t even know where you got the idea that I did!”
“Oh please! Quit denying it!” She squinted at him. “I just saw you two together at Lucio’s!”
“Tracy, that was my cousin! From Belifax? She’s visiting from school.”
“What a crock! You expect me to--”
“Well it’s true! I would’ve introduced you if you weren’t in costume. It didn’t help when you threw that table at me and told everyone I was a pedophile!”
Tracy rolled her eyes. “Well I couldn’t let anyone figure out my secret identity if they knew we were dating! Sorry, I just-- it’s all I could come up with…”
“Yeah, well while you were waiting here I was getting drilled by cops until Sam showed them her ID.”
“I said I was sorry, but that girl is not your cousin!” She pointed at her face and said, “Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“No! I…” Derek buried his face in his hands. He looked at Tracy. Her big blue eyes glaring back at him underneath the light brows now scrunched in sadness and resentment. Four months and he still couldn’t muster those three words he knew she wanted to hear. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I guess you didn’t. Get out.” She pointed hard at the door. “Get out and stay out. I don’t ever wanna see you again.”
Derek skulked out without saying goodbye.
Tracy burst into tears and plunged her face into a pillow. It still smelled like him; a strange combination of spearmint and that mentholated Nivea aftershave he used. She threw the pillow at the refridgerator. Derek didn’t deserve a second chance. She’d been suspicious ever since he told her she looked better as a blonde. He was vocally disappointed when he found out about the wig.


Tracy, or in this case, Blue Bonnet, who had just yesterday had her costume dry-cleaned, stood on the brim of the haggard rooftop of a recently condemned apartment building. Saturday night patrol.
She felt much better without her cheating boyfriend around. Beating up crooks and muggers is therapuetic.
Tonight she was wearing a smoky eye-shadow and her skirt was hiked up just a little higher. She practiced her heroic poses. Her half-cape flapped in the wind that carried a scent of smoke. Knuckles pressed to her hips, she smiled. Maybe a wink? Pouty lips? Toothy grin?
Her expression changed to surprise quickly enough when she heard tires screeching and a horrible metal crunch. She hopped down the side of the building using the noisy iron fire escape and ran in the direction of the crash.
The front end of a blue Nissan was wrapped around a crooked fire hydrant that leaked on the freshly mangled corpse of young man pinned beneath the car. As grotesque a sight as this was, Blue Bonnet was even more shocked when the airbag deflated enough for her to see Derek behind the wheel.
She opened the driver side door. The car reeked of bourbon.
“Derek? Derek!” She grabbed his collar and shook him.
Derek groaned. “Tra--”
“It’s Blue Bonnet.” She sniffed loudly. “And you’ve been drinking. You just… You’ve, you… You’re under arrest. DUI. And manslaughter.”
“Manslaugher?” He opened his eyes. “Oh my God! No! No!”
“Shut up.” She struggled to keep her face straight and her voice low. “You don’t get to feel sorry. Can you move?”
“Tracy…” Derek sobbed. “I… I missed you…”
“I said shut up.” She pulled him from the car.
“Ow!” He struggled to his feet. He saw the damage. “Oh God! Oh my--” Derek turned and threw up on his front tire.
“Derek…”
“Please!” He looked back at her. “Please Trace! I swear I didn’t mean for this!”
“What does it matter n--”
“Let me go…”
Tracy’s head was spinning. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. But right now she was Blue Bonnet. Blue Bonnet couldn’t let anyone go. What’s a girl to do?
Her options were cut short when she heard an explosion a few blocks away. There was no one to save at the scene of the accident, but people could be hurt, or God forbid the villianous Lobsterclops get away with another bank robbery.
“Stay here, Derek.”
She did not learn whether he stayed or not, because she did not go back.


The courtroom was bright and noisy on the morning of the 24th. The faint smell of citrus wood cleaner lingered when Tracy, not Blue Bonnet, walked through the big double doors.
Judge Walthers sat a good four feet higher than everyone in the room. Tracy just made sure to sit in the furthest row, and on the opposite side, from the defendant’s table, where Derek was sitting and covering his face with one hand.
Tracy had been pleasantly surprised that morning when she learned that Derek had called the police on himself from his cellphone. Less pleasantly surprised when the charges of his arrest did not include murder or manslaughter. How had he gotten rid of the body? How could anyone clean up the scene of that accident?
Regardless of the details, Tracy crossed her arms and resolved that no matter what history she and Derek shared, she would never forgive him for getting away with murder. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him get away at all.

Thanks for the read. Have a good one.

-Steve