The madman dancing on the fence

We took Kirsty back home, and I dressed her wound. She woke up the next morning with a smile on her face, and I looked at her, my face expressionless, my eyes grey. My reflection in the bedside mirror looked around coldly, I looked at myself with hate.

Kirsty shrunk when she saw me, and when I saw fear in her face, a dreadful coldness crept through my body. My stomach tangled itself up, my muscles contracted, and for a short moment, I felt even more fear than she did. Whoever she was, she knew who Johnny boy in the pin striped suit was.

I pulled out my gun and held it to her head.

"You will die, Bitch. Who the fuck sent you? Who the fuck is paying you to be a prostitute, and to inform them about me? Your information is to lead to my death, and you have destroyed your morals for money. I have killed, but I have never been near to the depth you have sunk to"

She cried, I lifted my gun and slammed it against her head. She fell back, yelling and bawling. I hit it again, this time hard. Blood spurted and she passed out. I ripped her dress and tied her hands and legs with it.

I called Pedro, told him to come watch over her, and went out to buy some chemicals. I needed her to talk, but this is America, you cannot simply shoot people and walk away like back home. People die "naturally" here. I could not beat her till she talked, I'd simply make her talk with chemicals. Brain damage might occur, but I didn't care at that point.


Roughly two hours later, I came back to Pedros place. He was not in the living room, so I walked over to the bedroom. I heard it before I saw it.

As I came in, her arms were untied, her legs were untied, and Pedro was licking her pussy. She was moaning with pleasure, and he was muttering in spanish.

The world spun in a circle, pressure built in my head, I felt my eyes turn red as the veins cracked. I blinked slowly, and Pedro turned towards me. Rage gripped me as I looked at the traitor, as I looked at the bitch.

I saw my gun in front of me gripped in my fist, I saw flame jump from the snout, I felt the recoil, I heard bangs. I felt sweat in my palm, I heard a ringing in the small room. I smelled burning cloth, dead bullets and then a thick smell of blood.

I saw two people lying naked on the bed, bleeding. Pedro was still gasping. I placed the pistol on his eyeball and pulled the trigger 3 times. His head jerked to the left each time, and I heard his neck snap.

I saw sweat fall from my palm, saw water fall from my face. Maybe a teardrop, maybe sweat.


4 hours later, I had wrapped both bodies in plastic bags, filled the bathtub with water and put both of them into it. I switched on the TV and left. I had between a few hours and few days before someone noticed that they were dead.

This is America. That was murder. A few moments of madness had turned me into a hunted criminal, and I had to leave. As soon as possible.

So I left, hired a car and started driving towards New York. Towards my old life, towards the small dark blues club in Harlem, and towards people that would help me escape this madness.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

If made into a movie, it would win an oscar. Don't go to New York, come to Virginia. please.

7:47 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I've eaten a lot of pussy, and I've never been able to speak english while doing so. Perhaps Spanish is different. I doubt that however. The most I have ever been able to say is mmmmph.

Fact check your stories. You don't want to end up like Mike Wallace.

6:11 PM  

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