Better Off Dead

4 0 0
                                    

It was a dark and stormy night...

Well, not really I guess, but that's how you start these things, right? I don't fuckin know. All right. I'll try this again.

It was a melancholy summer evening, the sort where dark perfume hangs in the air and electricity crackles through the ground. There were storm warnings, but to be honest, I couldn't care less. It's not like it was something major. The sky was smooth like satin, rippled edges of blood red and sodium streetlight orange all crumbled together. No one was around for miles. Actually, there might have been someone in a ditch nearby, but I wasn't actually entirely sure how conscious they were. I, however, felt more alive than I had in ages, drunk on the heady scent of earth in the air. Grass was brushing against my exposed kneecaps and I smiled, running my finger along the jagged scar that cut from the top of my shin to my ankle on my right leg. I shut my eyes, the black abyss waiting behind my eyelids still printed with thick oil paint smears of colour from the burning sun. I inhaled. Opened my eyes. There was a brief flash of colour before the world went black again. Unfortunately, despite all I had done, my final moments were not blissful. The tearing pain in my side and the rusty scent that cloaked the air made sure of that. Christ, that guy was a crap shot.

I don't fuckin know. Criminal girl in pretty field. Death sentence. Fun times.

Peace- Cranberry

Blanks and broken heartsWhere stories live. Discover now