Die Writing

Own choice

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on July 4, 2013

Michael trained the raven-colored pistol and his heavy eyes on Cedric. Muzzle toward the heart, and eye to eye, they squared off grimly.

“I don’t care for your self-righteous bullshit,” spat Cedric.

“You won’t have it.”

“Nothing about this being God’s will? Nothing about meeting my maker?”

“None of that. No idea about God’s will. Everyone’s always dragging him into everything. This is getting settled with just the two of us. No third parties.”

“I’m fucking tired of your burned-out junkie poet bullshit. You are just filthy as the rest of us, Michael.”

“At least I’m late to the murderer party, Cedric. You deserve every bit of this.”

Cedric quieted for a minute. He was bleeding from his temple. The whole left side of his face was swollen. He hurt all over, But more than the pain, the circumstance was maddening. Why was he the one to get punished? Why was precious Cedric the one to catch the whip? It was unfair.

Unfair unfair unfair unfair!

He just took what was his. Everyone did. Yet he was only one in this dump, facing a gun full of bullets with his name on it and a determined trigger finger. Any other day – at any given moment – he’d shove Michael’s head into the mud with the rest of them.

“Fuck you. You won’t get a goddamned confession out of me, you won’t get a bloody list of regrets. I – ”

Michael fired. Then again, and then again. Cedric’s body jerked with every shot, deflated, slumped back. The thin wisps of smoke, the harsh beams of light coming through the window, the pattern of Cedric’s shirt cut themselves indelibly into Michael’s mind. He could feel these images searing themselves into his mind. He felt sick, like someone swung a hammer into his stomach. There was no sense of justice, no feeling of a wrong righted. Just the mud that crept into his hollow heart.

Pick up lines

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on July 3, 2013

He inhaled the smoke and opened the tin case for her. She leaned forward, examined the tightly wrapped cigarillos for a moment, more used to the usual cigarettes. These had a finer, older aroma. She picked one out and brought up the light.

“So where are you from?” He asked.

“That’s a terrible pickup line.”

“You’re married. I can’t pick you up.”

“Maybe I’m in an open marriage,” she said with cartoonish seduction in her voice.

“Well I’m not,” he quipped. “Besides, I’m not interested in sex.”

“Not interested in sex?”

“No. I’ve had sex. It was fine. Kind of done with that scene.” He leaned on the window sill and she against the porch railing. He did his best to make himself nonchalant, haughty, and poetic, while she grinned, amused. “So let’s have it, where you from?”

“Fine. New York.”

“God I hate New York.”

“Fuck you, feller,” she said with a laugh.

“I’d be ok if it was less New York. I get it, greatest city on Earth, stop trying.”

“Ha. No trying there.

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