The Sandwich Murderer: Micro Fiction by P. A. Harper

Read The Sandwich Murderer micro fiction by P. A. Harper, now available as a free read on my blog. Free to enjoy and share. Photo by Erik Forsberg, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Karl looks down wide-eyed and shakes his head, staring at his filthy prone body in disbelief. How did my sandwich explode? It smelled so delicious. I didn’t even get to take a bite! And why is there a crow here?

“Shoo!” He raises his hands and waves them at the crow, but the bird only hops closer towards him, pecking at tidbits of his once beautiful sandwich. I wish I had a cage to trap it in. Karl hears laughter and looks up to see the other guests. They are all circled around Patrick, their boss, who is thanking everyone for coming to the annual company picnic. No one seems to notice Karl isn’t there. I did choose to sit behind the big oak.

Karl pretends not to notice his body as he looks back down at the remains of his sandwich and tries to pick up some remains of his beloved sandwich. I can put it back together. The problem is the bits keep slipping right through his fingers. What the heck! He shakes his head.

Karl’s last memory is the mustard container his co-worker Jack left on the picnic table just before he was about to enjoy his quadruple-layer sandwich. Jack did something to my sandwich. I know he was mad about me getting the promotion, but it’s not my fault he screwed up the Funkel account.

Dollops of mustard, carrot sticks, pickles, and other sandwich parts spread out in a circular pattern around his head like a halo or ripples in a pond. For a moment, the idea of a sandwich angle pops into Karl’s head. But he pushes the thought away. I need to focus if I want to fix my sandwich. He tries every trick he can think of to pick up one piece of his sandwich. Nothing’s working. And he slumps down onto the ground beside his body in defeat. A single tear escapes and drips down his cheek. I’m dead. My sandwich is dead. Another tear trickles out, but then he feels something else. It’s anger. No, I won’t let the creep get away with this.

Karl looks up and sees Jack flirting with Rene as his anger grows into a rage; he glides over and slaps him in the back of the head just as Patrick walks behind him. The sandwich murderer turns and hits Patrick, thinking he was the one who slapped him.

Karl dances with glee as he scoops up a piece of honey ham from his dead sandwich and sniffs it. It smells of honeycomb and grassy pastures, wonderful! He feels the corners of his mouth push up into a wide grin and munches while watching Jack beat back Patrick with a badminton racket.

“Help! Someone call the police!”

It won’t bring my sandwich back, but haunting Jack is a good start to my happy ever-after life.

Thank you for reading The Sandwich Murderer: Micro Fiction by P. A. Harper! You can find more of my short stories here: https://paharper.com/short-stories/.