(no subject)
They had reached that point in the night where there is no longer any concept of time, just an endless darkness unthreatened by any hints of daylight. The stranger looked up at the barman. "Shall I continue?", he asked.
"It was late, as I've told you, but now I was wide awake. Moreover, I knew that the man I was seeking wouldn't be asleep. As I say, I was his best friend for years, although the fall-out from Leah meant we parted on bad terms. So doubtless he was drinking with friends and listening to shitty music at this time of night: it's not like he had a job to go to.
"I went to the house I suspected he would be in, and, noticing the lights on and the dull thud of bass emitting from the window, waited across the road in a bus shelter. The wind that cut intrusively through kept me awake until finally I saw him. He was as he'd always been. Same tang of arrogance, same excess of hair gel, same drunken gait. I pulled a gun from my bag..."
"What type of gun?" enquired the barman, who, as bartender of a Godforsaken hellhole, was more than familiar with guns.
"Oh, who gives a damn? I wasn't thinking straight, and wasn't particularly fussy about what I bought. Anyway, I pulled the gun from my bag and loaded. I had him in my sights, and fired. Unfortunately, at the point of firing, he lurched over, drunkenly, causing me to miss the idiot's head and bury the bullet in a nearby lamppost. Panicking, my former friend began to run, and I, infuriated at my sniper incompetence, gave chase. I caught up easily, and from six feet, shot him in the back. I couldn't miss, and I didn't. Now, you're thinking, 'why not the head?', but I didn't want to get covered in blood. Kinda hard to walk inconspiciously down the street with someone else's brains down your shirt.
"I cleaned the gun for fingerprints and threw it in a skip. I returned home and I slept. Eight glorious hours of uninterrupted sleep, for the first time in months. I woke up at midday feeling awesome. Have you ever killed, barman? It's quite a feeling. If your sexual frustration can be solved through orgasm, so too can your emotional frustration be solved through the bullet. But my plan wasn't over yet. There were still plenty of people in Leah's past to avenge.
"Adam was the next. He was the ex-boyfriend who promised to stay friends, a friendship which manifested itself through stalkerish behaviour, as so many of these relationships seem to. I'd met him a few times, mostly when I was helping Leah move from his house. Although we never disliked each other particularly, I couldn't help wondering how he and Leah ever got on. Perhaps he thought the same about me. Anyway, I knew where he lived, obviously, and I knew the back entrance to his garden. It was as simple as walking through the gate and lying in wait.
"After a few hours, he came home from work, pulling up in his shitty VW Golf. Adam was thickly bearded with a shaven head, as if all his hair had migrated to his chin or something, and wore some form of shapeless overalls that looked 100 years old. He let himself in, already taking his cigarettes from his pocket, which he intended to take through to the back garden and smoke. I had the attack perfectly planned, and as he moseyed through the back door, I sent a knife straight into him. He choked, and fell without even seeing me. And they say smoking kills?
"I knew that, with two murders in two days, the police might be interested by now, but it didn't matter to my plans. The next one wouldn't be in my hometown. I had to go North. I took a train to Leeds and booked into a cheap B&B, and I slept."
(part three tomorrow!)
Coybito, tonight, Golden Cross, Coventry, 9pm. Yr life depends on it.
"It was late, as I've told you, but now I was wide awake. Moreover, I knew that the man I was seeking wouldn't be asleep. As I say, I was his best friend for years, although the fall-out from Leah meant we parted on bad terms. So doubtless he was drinking with friends and listening to shitty music at this time of night: it's not like he had a job to go to.
"I went to the house I suspected he would be in, and, noticing the lights on and the dull thud of bass emitting from the window, waited across the road in a bus shelter. The wind that cut intrusively through kept me awake until finally I saw him. He was as he'd always been. Same tang of arrogance, same excess of hair gel, same drunken gait. I pulled a gun from my bag..."
"What type of gun?" enquired the barman, who, as bartender of a Godforsaken hellhole, was more than familiar with guns.
"Oh, who gives a damn? I wasn't thinking straight, and wasn't particularly fussy about what I bought. Anyway, I pulled the gun from my bag and loaded. I had him in my sights, and fired. Unfortunately, at the point of firing, he lurched over, drunkenly, causing me to miss the idiot's head and bury the bullet in a nearby lamppost. Panicking, my former friend began to run, and I, infuriated at my sniper incompetence, gave chase. I caught up easily, and from six feet, shot him in the back. I couldn't miss, and I didn't. Now, you're thinking, 'why not the head?', but I didn't want to get covered in blood. Kinda hard to walk inconspiciously down the street with someone else's brains down your shirt.
"I cleaned the gun for fingerprints and threw it in a skip. I returned home and I slept. Eight glorious hours of uninterrupted sleep, for the first time in months. I woke up at midday feeling awesome. Have you ever killed, barman? It's quite a feeling. If your sexual frustration can be solved through orgasm, so too can your emotional frustration be solved through the bullet. But my plan wasn't over yet. There were still plenty of people in Leah's past to avenge.
"Adam was the next. He was the ex-boyfriend who promised to stay friends, a friendship which manifested itself through stalkerish behaviour, as so many of these relationships seem to. I'd met him a few times, mostly when I was helping Leah move from his house. Although we never disliked each other particularly, I couldn't help wondering how he and Leah ever got on. Perhaps he thought the same about me. Anyway, I knew where he lived, obviously, and I knew the back entrance to his garden. It was as simple as walking through the gate and lying in wait.
"After a few hours, he came home from work, pulling up in his shitty VW Golf. Adam was thickly bearded with a shaven head, as if all his hair had migrated to his chin or something, and wore some form of shapeless overalls that looked 100 years old. He let himself in, already taking his cigarettes from his pocket, which he intended to take through to the back garden and smoke. I had the attack perfectly planned, and as he moseyed through the back door, I sent a knife straight into him. He choked, and fell without even seeing me. And they say smoking kills?
"I knew that, with two murders in two days, the police might be interested by now, but it didn't matter to my plans. The next one wouldn't be in my hometown. I had to go North. I took a train to Leeds and booked into a cheap B&B, and I slept."
(part three tomorrow!)
Coybito, tonight, Golden Cross, Coventry, 9pm. Yr life depends on it.