Sunday, June 26, 2005

Vicious Whore

I had just finished the days eightieth cigarette and there was blood in my urine. Bruises from the fight ran up my arm, along my shoulder and skips the neck for the full on facial assault. Three loose teeth and an eye so swollen, the doctor says the eyeball itself might be crushed like a grape. But you should see the other guy. In the mirror, we look at my damaged body. She has her arms wrapped around my neck and it hurts.
“I’m going to make those motherfuckers pay for what they did to you”, she says with venom usually reserved for when I cheat on her. “I will make them cry blood and scream until they go deaf from it.”
She removes the gun from the holster and checks the clip. Satisfied there were enough bullets, she clicks it back in and draws back the hammer next to her ear so she could hear the spring stretch and the locking mechanism holding it down click, so she could hear what those ‘cunts’ will hear the second before she unloads on them.
“Get some rest, lover. I’ll be back later with blood stained hands and a need for shower love” and she slams the door behind her loud enough for the next-door neighbours dog to wake up and start yelping and scratching at the wall. Through the window, I see her hop into the convertible and tear away out of the alley, knocking trashcans over and spinning out into the street, the tyres howling for mercy.
Speeding downtown, running red lights, ignoring the screams of the innocent pedestrians, she begins to plan her entry into the ‘Maria’ gang territory. The home base is an old textile factory surrounded by the run down houses of the gang members. Blood thirsty and unschooled, they are the most vicious gang in Los Angeles, known for cop killing and child molestation. Soon, very soon, she was going to be in a world of shit, tieing her own noose.
The snake tattoo that adorns her left arm writhed as she tensed her muscles, adrenalin pumping through her body increasing her strength, focusing her eyes, enflaming her spiritual dragon, asleep for so long thirsty for the sweat of fear, which her enemies will pour come her arrival into their territories. She crosses the last train track and buildings suddenly become decrepit with age and lack of maintenance. Bits of mortar fall off walls around her and glass from broken windows and bottles is strewn about. It’s hazardous just to walk here, the sector the city officials forgot and the public ignores. Police don’t enter because they will be shot and killed and their bodies will be dragged through the streets for their children to see on national news.
And finally, she reaches the factory with no resistance, but she expected as much. Once she enters, she cannot leave alive. The car skids up to the front of the factory, dust spitting into the air, and she extinguishes her unfiltered cigarette only to light another. The old wooden door of the factory explodes in from the force of her kick and Hispanic gang members stop sniffing lines of coke and banging each other to look up at the raving bitch.
It has to start somewhere. It has to start sometime. What better place than here, what better time than now. And she opens fire.

6 comments:

  1. This is not a complaint, but have you noticed that your blogs have been getting longer?

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  2. Yes... without a doubt. It's not entirely unintentional either. I like to write and it's kinda fufilling to do something detailed... or whatever.

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  3. Any continuation in sight??wanna hear more of the megabitch??so ill ask again since i did'nt get a reply you just bumming round for the summer?

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  4. Bumming around would be an overstatement. I am working at home, which allows me to take it handier than if I had a normal job. But normal jobs don't involve dead people, so I think we're even.
    As for continuations, if I can think of a good idea for it, rather than just have a fight, I will.

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  5. This would have been a good story if I hadnt already seen Sin City.

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  6. Yeah, sin city was on my mind.
    Good Ian. Now dance, bitch.

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