Sometimes I think my acting is better than that white haired dolt's entire career. Maybe if I wasn't a slave to a shit system, them I would have made it big. Eh, Hollywood ain't my thing anyways.
Vegas seems to be a better description of this place anyways. The dazzling lights and the whirring of all the machines makes my head spin. Why couldn't ginger take this job.
Oh right, he has the attention span of a drunk toddler.
He doesn't look like much, I sweet talk and do my fancy card tricks. He doesn't budge. Tough crowd.
His stupid face will be burned into my memory, and the small smirk as he kicked my ass for the fifth time. Oh how I hate that stupid grin.
Oh how I enjoyed that pissed of look. She acts like I don't come in here every week, kick her ass, and leave. How I haven't been kicked out is a mystery. She doesn't know the mission is over, or that there ever was a mission. They don't know the mission is over. Even I don't know the mission is over.
Oh no, the mission has only begun.
One minute I'm walking home, the next I'm in an alleyway. My luck is absolute shit.
One minute I'm on my way to finding her, the next I'm by her side, and everything about this place is cold.
It's early December, and there's been a stabbing reported. A body, covered in flowers was spotted in an alleyway by the casino. Another with it. Only one was identified, the casino worker. Only one was buried with a name, but both were absent of friends and loved ones.
The night is cold as two people huddle with each other. The pain of the wound, both on their stomach and in their chest reflected in their eyes, silently begging the other to help. The other's eyes only held panic and fear, an emotion they were not well aquatinted with. The night got colder, the moon and stars shone brighter, and the souls grew weaker. One couldn't talk through pain, the other through panic, yet both were screaming at each other. Trembling hands covered the wound and kept trying to keep the other awake, the blood seeping through their fingers. The crickets cooed, the wind made the leaves sing, and the coughs grew harsher and harsher. Both looked in horror at the flowers, and blood grew. If you would have asked the police what color they associated with that night, they would say crimson. The moon shone bright, and the souls grew dim.
Despite the silent pleas, one flame went out. It felt like hours, but it was a matter of minutes. And that alleyway was so cold. Now those eyes full of panic, only held sorrow. They knew, they knew the moment the bouquet between them grew, what the other was trying to say. And they accepted, but they accepted too late.
And with that, the last flame went out.
Two solitary graves sit on a hill, one with a name, and one without. Two souls on that December night, their final words unspoken, yet they went out screaming.
The night was silent, but the windows to the souls said enough.
And two flames dance in the night, and light up alleyways for young ones that are out to late at night.
Two stars twinkle in the sky, and both dazzle like the lights in the place they both found love.
One with a magic trick, and one with a knowing smirk. Oh how she hated that smirk. Oh how he loved her mad.
Oh how they both dazzled, and grew dim, in that cold alleyway.
