Want to read crappy writing induced by a plethora of Red Bull, spite, and sheer lack of motivation for actual, important, non-crappy writing? Then this is the book for you!
I twirl in the flames and smoke and the hungry gazes of the men at the club tonight. The flickering shadows caresses my body like a long-lost lover returning home. My limbs are loose and supple and my head is spinning and floating and I'm lost in the feeling of euphoria that engulfs me right then, right now.
When I danced, all my problems fell away. The music was exotic and lush, sexual and beautiful. Now I was too. As the beat of a new song came on, I didn't pause. Didn't stop dancing. Couldn't stop dancing.
I did my best to notice When the call came down the line Up to the platform of surrender I was brought but I was kind
This song wasn't the music the club usually played.
I ignore my growing unease that something catastrophic was gonna happen and beckoned to a man watching me with rapt eyes. He climb onto the stage like he was in a daze, eyes roaming over the delicate lines of my throat, my mussed hair, my breasts and legs while I caressed the pole, smiling at him.
I licked my lips, tasting the strawberry lip gloss.
No time to worry about the song choice.
It was time to hunt. I was the predator, and this man was my prey. He'll be going home satisfied tonight—if short a couple hundred bucks.
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I sit with my head in my hands outside her hospital room, empty cups of coffee littered all around my chair. The doctor and nurses that rushed past me—in and out of her room—had no time to give me any reassurance besides a polite nod and smile whenever I caught their eye.
How long does it usually take for labor?
How long had Maria been in there?
I had been in there, clutching her hand as she thrashed and quivered and screamed, before her father had gently guided me away and told me to take a break.
How could I take a break when my wife and unborn daughter might die?
Sometime later, the receptionist switched spots with another girl. She gave me a pitying smile as she pulled on her coat and stepped out the door—out to her own life full of her own problems and dreams and happiness where she would quickly forget the man who waited for his wife in her reception area. The new girl glanced my way, before turning away and switching the background radio on.
"You look like you need some music." She said, eyes softening, before burying herself in her computer screen.
And sometimes I get nervous When I see an open door Close your eyes, clear your heart Cut the cord
"Thank you." I uttered, touched by that simple act of kindness.
I closed my eyes and slept, drifting away into a land of nothingness.
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I held the gun up to the light, inspecting it from every angle. It was just metal—metal and plastic and wood—but it was also fear and agony and evil. Or was the latter the man, not the gun?
It had been ridiculously easy to purchase a rifle that'll work. I had wanted to shout at the cashier who sold me the hunting rifle—I wanted to scream at her because it was too damn easy to buy something that had caused so much death. What if I'd been mentally insane? What if I'd been planning to shoot up a school or a library or murder someone with the weapon she just sold me for less than two hundred dollars?
I kept my mouth shut and I handed over the cash.
Now it sat on my bed as I typed up my suicide note. Explaining that since Eloise won the custody case for Matt, that ever since I'd lost my job, I'd been contemplating this. That it wasn't their fault. That this would free me from the endless turmoil that was life. A bunch of bland, empty words that would leave the people who show up in tears—the people who would as soon as my funeral was over turn and gossip about my drinking, my smoking, my faults.
Pay my respects to grace and virtue Send my condolences to good Hear my regards to soul and romance They always did the best they could
I snorted as the music from next door floated through my window. Grace and virtue were as dead as chivalry—as dead I was gonna be in a minute. I laughed at my own sick, twisted joke. Too soon? Nah.
I was still giggling as I placed the barrel of the gun into my mouth and pulled the trigger.
And so long to devotion You taught me everything I know Wave goodbye, wish me well You've gotta let me go
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written for Hannah Sue's writing contests (loved this prompt and the song btw)
