Jenny glanced at the painted words stretched across the side of the old bridge as she and Bryan drove underneath.
“The Pies?” she frowned.
Bryan shrugged. “Ya got me. Maybe some clever local advertising?”
Five minutes later they approached Wilhelmine’s Diner. “Best Homemade Meat Pies in Plainfield” it read underneath her sign.
Jenny grinned at Bryan. “Wanna stop for some pie?”
[12 hours earlier]
Amanda dragged herself through the brush near the old bridge. The deep gash on her leg was allowing an exodus of blood. She knew she didn’t have long. The can of spray paint in her hand that she’d used to burn George and escape was all she had now, having lost her lighter. While she remained conscious, she decided to put the paint to it’s proper use.
Leaning over the edge of the bridge, she sprayed the words “Don’t Eat The Pies”. As she finished, a twig snapped. George loomed above her with meat cleaver in hand. Amanda knew he’d finish what he started when she and her husband had stopped to eat at Wilhelmine’s.
The diner’s proprietor always used fresh meat for her pastries and unsuspecting tourists provided a bountiful supply.
Word Count: 198
[This is my entry into the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge, hosted by Alastair Forbes. Write a short story of 200 words or less from the photo prompt provided.]
~V
The Well of Fiction 