mind of a killer- a short short story written on may 18th '05
dry pavement under a hot summer sun. breathe dry heat and nothing but smoke. in hale as the paper crackles, sweat drips slowly down your brow and you think to yourself again. a million differant words but only one coheirant thoguht, "what was her name?"...
it lingers like the scent of booze and stale cigarettes from the night before. another puff, exhale and with a smile of sweet releife, there it is. that sweet sensation of relaxing bliss. ah, the wonders of modern technology, the chemistry of it all, ah, the nicotine.
you take another drag, lungs fill with smoke, and you find yourself wondering where the night went. but some how the mid day sun sucks that answer from you, or so it seems anyways.
the morning cup of coffee dosent seem to be helping, though it's bitter. it's strong. "what was her name?"...
the taste lingers in your mouth, on your lips. and with another sip and another drag, the question remains. "who was she? what was her name?"...
the morning paper brings it's usual blend of bad morning news. terrorists attack country such and such, so many dead, so many wounded. for more details see page 13. kids shoot up local high school. suicide rates on the rise, the stock market is falling, gas prices rising. oh...here's a real keeper. "local killer still at large."
sick bastard. they still haven't caught him though. kind of makes your skin crawl, how the victims face is pryed open in an over exaggerated expression of surprise. almost clownish. funny, it's almost like they're smiling. at least he had the courtisy of leaving this one's face.
blow out the last gasp of smoke, smothering ashes amongst ashes. the small glass tray over flows, but luckily it's damp. must've spilled some beer in it last night.
it lingers like the scent of booze and stale cigarettes from the night before. another puff, exhale and with a smile of sweet releife, there it is. that sweet sensation of relaxing bliss. ah, the wonders of modern technology, the chemistry of it all, ah, the nicotine.
you take another drag, lungs fill with smoke, and you find yourself wondering where the night went. but some how the mid day sun sucks that answer from you, or so it seems anyways.
the morning cup of coffee dosent seem to be helping, though it's bitter. it's strong. "what was her name?"...
the taste lingers in your mouth, on your lips. and with another sip and another drag, the question remains. "who was she? what was her name?"...
the morning paper brings it's usual blend of bad morning news. terrorists attack country such and such, so many dead, so many wounded. for more details see page 13. kids shoot up local high school. suicide rates on the rise, the stock market is falling, gas prices rising. oh...here's a real keeper. "local killer still at large."
sick bastard. they still haven't caught him though. kind of makes your skin crawl, how the victims face is pryed open in an over exaggerated expression of surprise. almost clownish. funny, it's almost like they're smiling. at least he had the courtisy of leaving this one's face.
blow out the last gasp of smoke, smothering ashes amongst ashes. the small glass tray over flows, but luckily it's damp. must've spilled some beer in it last night.