Antichrist Body Farm (and Other LGBT+ Short Stories)

Who Could Ask For More?

The street was damp and dark with only one measly streetlamp illuminated next to me. It flickered every two minutes. I've been standing here by my lonesome, counting the unbearable seconds as the cold wind brushes up against my bare arms.

Little was known to me. The only surefire thing was that I was dawning a cream-colored mermaid dress with a matching set of jewelry that I knew I could never afford. My world seemed to exist for only those twenty minutes, yet I knew the kind of person I was and how I'd never worn anything so high-brow. Where was I going? How did I lose sight of it?

...Should I move around?

I took a hesitant step into the street. The ground mushed beneath my posh slippers, the sludge squealing with defeat.

A sudden flash of light pierced the black––I made out a bright pair of headlights shining from the darkness at the end of the street. I hopped back onto the curb. The car was a shiny red, like lipstick on a pin-up girl––sleek and aggressive, slowly pulling up to my side.

The tinted window of the driver's seat rolled down.

"Miss O'Dare?"

The name flipped a switch in my head. He was talking to me. And not only did this mysterious man know more about me than I did myself, but he had horns. And weird blacked-out eyes.

Now I understood why I was in this get-up. I was on my way to a costume party.

"Yes, sir?"

"That's my lord, to you." He stared me dead in the eyes. Then he giggled. "I'm just fuckin' with ya. I think there's room for maybe just one more. Duck on in, love."

I started to say something in protest, but he rolled up the window.

I remained motionless by the streetlamp, gazing uneasily at the back door. This man had a foreign face to me. He could be one of my friends, but he could also be picking me up to eventually dump my body in a river. Maybe he was even the reason why I was so dazed.

There was a vicious knock on the driver's window that startled me out of my trance. Not knowing what else to do, I flung the back door open and hastily got inside.

There were about thirteen other people in the car, all dressed up in various ways and of various ages. The interior seemed to stretch back like a limousine with speakers blasting music. Funny, because the car from the outside looked like a sedan and quiet as a library. I didn't even hear the music when the window was rolled down.

Who knows. I must've hit my head.

"Why are you here, pretty girl?" An older man grabbed my wrist. I slapped his hand away and flipped him off, doing my best to avoid eye contact with anyone as I made my way to the very back. After that terrible first impression, I sat down next to the most innocent-looking person in there––a small child dressed like a witch.

"Oi, fuck off, mate. What are you doing?" The driver called from the front seat to the creepy man.

"He's not going where we're going for SURE!" A tipsy woman yelled. The entire car full of people cheered with her, including the creepy man.

I focused on the child. She sat there peacefully playing with a loose thread on her dress, paying no mind to the obnoxious adults. She noticed me staring and smiled up at me.

"Hi!" She said in a bright voice.

"Hello..."

"I'm Kimmy! Who are you?"

"...S––...Siobhan?"

She knitted her eyebrows together.

"Um, are you sure?"