Writing Prompts

A.1

"How many more times do I have to kill you before you stop coming back!?"

"No idea. But please, for the love of God, keep trying", I say with a laugh.

He snuck up on me when I was passing through the alley to get over to my favorite club a little bit faster, because every second counts when it's Saturday night and all the rich men are there. I assume he's a desperate one because the gun he's holding has been quivering almost as much as his voice when he asks for my wallet, watch, and antique necklace on full display across my chest. Or it could be the fact that none of his bullets kill me. I think he has fired off seven now, which means there are about eight to ten bullets left in the clip before he runs away in fear without a weapon.

Another bullet rips through my chest and within seconds the hole closes but the holes in my clothes, sadly, will not. I look up from my chest over to him and I think he's shaking even more, if that's even possible.

"Why won't you die!? I can't have you going to the cops, I've got a life and things I have left to do!" he shouts at me in pure terror. The gun is now wildly shaking and even if he fired again, I'm not too sure it would hit me this time. Definitely desperate.

"Hush, you don't want anyone to hear you, now would you? And anyways, I won't go to the police if you just leave. Just forget this happened and I will do the same. Do we have a deal?"

I added a smirk at the end of my question and I hope it makes me sound clinically insane. The best thing for him to do would be to just leave before my temper gets the best of me. Shit never ends well when they bring out my temper.

"Just...just leave? I can't just leave a witness alive! I have to kill you to know that I will be safe."

His quivering slowed and he brought his other hand up under the gun and shot me straight through the forehead. I really didn't think he had it in him to fire straight but, nonetheless, here we are. Same as before, the wound closes up within a few seconds and there is a single drop of blood running down the side of my nose onto my lips. To think I spent and hour and a half doing my makeup just for this asshole to ruin it with a stupid gun of all choices. The invention of the gun just might have been the worst thing to happen to humanity because it gives men a backbone when their spine is truly made of gelatin.

I blink once. I blink twice. Wiping the blood off with the back of my hand, I realize that keeping my temper within check simply was not going to be an option tonight. My dress is ruined, my makeup is smudged, my hair is bloody, and I am still strikingly sober. I blink a third time and before my eyes open my breath is now mingling with his.

"How—how did you, what just happened?? Y—you moved. I—I didn't even see, how did you—"

The fear in his eyes comes back and I know that I now have him within my grasp. He trips backward and falls while trying to put space between us as his mind is wringing itself inside out, trying to figure out how I moved so fast. Anger brings out the things I try to hide when living in the mortal world and if I go any further he just might be the one that dies in this alley instead.

"Run", I whisper. Nothing else. I think the message finally got across this time because he scrambles to his feet, turns his back to me, and runs with his tailed tucked between his legs. Serves him right for ruining my night. I pull out my compact mirror and look at the damage done. My lipstick smeared, curls ruined, and my black patty dress is riddled with holes. Not the first time, but does anyone really like getting shot at point blank range when they're ready to go clubbing?

I figured that showing up with bullet holes won't get the party going so I make my way home and decide to crack open my fresh whiskey and have another weekend in instead of wasting my ruined night.

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