Nightmare Fuel, Day the Tenth - Warnings

Today's prompt is an odd little warning sign, image provenance unknown. Kary has a nice all-dialog bit, which gets very close to explaining the nature of the warning but stops just shy.  Jenny Persson adds a somewhat literal take on yesterday's prompt as well, giving us a sense of rising terror. I love the way Samantha Dunaway Bryant wrapped lots of alien-visitor folklore into one bundle of fears and warnings.


Here, as usual, is my take.

Warnings

"I write the warnings." That was the first thing she said.

Truth is, I don't even remember my opening line, and I'm always killer at opening lines. I saw her there at the bar, by herself. Dressed all professional, not trashy like so many other dames these days. Dark pencil skirt, white blouse, brown hair pulled back tight. A real dish, but no nonsense. Professional, in the real way. Not that other way.

Anyway, that's what she said. She writes the warnings. She gave me a crooked half-smile when I asked which ones.

"All of the warnings. It's what I do. You know 'Caution -- HOT'? That's me. And 'Failure to follow instructions may result in injury or death'. I love that one."

"Come on, you're pulling my leg. There's no one person who writes all those. Everyone who makes something has someone put the warning on it."

She shook her head, laughter in her eyes. "Nope. They all come from me. 'For external use only'. That's a good one. And, of course, 'Beware of Dog'". Her eyes turned serious, and her voice dropped. "That means that I know where the dangers are. All of the dangers."

"Because you write the warnings."

Her eyes twinkled. "Now you get it. Just think what the world would be like without me."

I raise my glass, "You mean nobody knowing when not to drive or operate heavy machinery?"

She laughs. "Yes, that's a newer one. And 'do not remove safety guard'. And, one of my favorites, 'Caution - Well'"

I shook my head, "I know that one's from a TV show."

Her eyes danced in the dim light, "I have my pop-culture moments."


"So without you... what? We'd take a drink, remove the safety guard, chop all of our hands off?"

She laughed again. "Perhaps you would,"

And yes, it was that kind of night. I paid both our tabs, we left together. Much later, alone in a deserted street, she whispered to me, her breath hot against my ear, "I write all the warnings. But I never wrote one about," she pauses, her grip tightening around me. Tighter than I thought possible,

"about me!"

It was the last sound I'd ever hear.

If you can hear me, someway, somehow, remember

not all warnings have been written.

Beware.