Write or Die

Posted: October 5, 2010 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

I was at school between classes when I wrote this today. I couldn’t stand it. Had to write something, anything. Sometimes if I don’t write… I get grumpy. It’s not pretty. And I’ve been so busy it’s not funny, so I’ve been grumpy. So I wrote this through once and it’s rough like the character and his dead girlfriend’s unshaven legs.


Sky blue canopy above, hard pavement beneath. The road stretches forever. The cigarettes won’t last, can’t last. Like life and the breath in my lungs, both are bound to give out one day. Like the road. And at the end? Hardship and bullets. Wolves and dogs. They lie in wait. My nine-millimeter Beretta rests in my waistline, the Glock in my size-fifteen snakeskin boots. The wind rushes past. Makes it hard to smoke. No windshield on my chopper—those are for wannabes’—although sometimes I wish. Can’t smile and drive or I’ll collect bugs in my teeth. Just ride the steel and climb the wind along this lonely stretch of road. Just think about the good times and the bad.

She’s gone now.

Jasmine. Met her at O’Leary’s on the bad side of town. She was the best damned thing in that neck of the woods. The concrete jungle’s skyscrapers and nightly gunshots gave way to a slum, which gave way to the ol’ Irish pub that had transformed into a strip club. I was going in, she was coming out. Wasn’t looking where I was headed. I guess that’s why she was on her ass looking up after bouncing off my chest. “Damn, you’re big.” I smiled and helped her up. “I’ve heard that before.” I flirted with a grin. The smile didn’t leave her lips as she trailed past. Neither did my eyes. I watched her ass on the way out, wondering if I’d gotten soft in my old age.

Ten years later I’m still old. Old and mean. Body’s scarred. Each wound cemented in my body’s whitewashed scar tissue tells a hell of a story. I’m full of stories, from knife wounds to bullet holes. My body’s full of conversation pieces. My heart’s full of sin but my mind’s on Jasmine, now resting in the ground.

My guns are full of bullets.

Vengeance is mine. It’s always been mine.

Skyblue canopy above, hot pavement beneath. And death at the end of a long, hard road.

  1. Well written, and very dark. A piece just for the blog or will you be subbing someplace?

  2. JAM says:

    I’m actually toying with the idea for a novel out of this. But I almost always add fantasy to my stuff. I wonder if red-scaled dragons hovering over a desert highway would be too much for this Harley riding bad ass to handle? Or for that matter, would something like that be too much for readers?

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