I honestly have no idea where I came up with this story. I can say this was one of my earlier attempts at flash fiction, but that’s all. If you’re looking for more examples of my work, check out my freebie page.
Behind Jan, the nightclub was hopping. Hot, sweat dancers ground their bodies together in twisted mating rituals. Couples huddled close, drinking, smoking, and filling the air with fake laughter. The typical substandard fair—short, fat, ugly, and just plain unsavory people frequented the club yet again.
Weekend after weekend she returned, wishing that just once someone worthy of her attention would catch her eye. Something had to change. She’d done this scene too many times.
“I’ll be your genie.” A nasal voice filtered through the steady drone in the nightclub.
Jan laughed under her breath and took a sip of her margarita. She dared not look at the guy taking the seat next to her; it’d only encourage him. No way. The chance of waking to his voice grating in her ear on a regular basis was nil.
“If you had one wish, what would it be?” he asked.
Surely he could come up with a better pickup line than that. She peeked at the mirror behind the bar—pot-bellied, balding at the crown with a puff of hair in the center, shabby suit. Why me?
His eyes, the color of fresh cow manure, met hers and winked.
Was he for real? She swiveled in her stool and faced him. “May I help you?”
“Actually, I think I can help you.” The corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk as his gaze traveled down the length of her body, only to return and linger on her breasts.
She sighed and returned to her drink. Ignore it and it’ll go away.
“Well?” he asked.
She glanced at his image, wishing there were more liquor bottles to block the view. “Well what?”
“Your wish. What’ll it be?”
She scoffed. “I’d wish for a good looking man to take your place.”
He laughed—more of a cackle than a friendly chuckle—and creepy enough for her to leave her cocktail behind and seek an escape.
“As you wish,” he called after her.
A dancer barreled into her, sending her stumbling as a white glow illuminated the club. Blinded momentarily, Jan cringed as her back hit the bar rail but kept her from falling. The light faded as quickly as it had arrived, and her vision cleared.
She eased into a stool and stared at the club replicated in the mirror in front of her. Only this time, the fat bald man was gone, and in his chair sat one fine stud—dark brown hair with soft curls, Caribbean blue eyes, and a body that made her disregard the ache in her back and bite her lip…
The hunk’s bottom lip slid from his teeth, and his mouth dropped open. His expression an exact duplicate of what she felt. What in the world? She rubbed her hand along her jaw, taking in the slight stubble. Her every movement mimicked in his reflection. No… her reflection.