Marcus had stepped into his bedroom to take a phone call, a business call. The bass in the background made the house buzz like a hive. He told the customer that he was having a party, and if he wanted to do business he should come enjoy the festivities. He flipped the phone shut and turned to head back to the crowd. Someone was in the room with him.
Marcus raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. "Hey man, there ain't no bathroom in here. Can I help you with somethin'?"
His face was dark in the ambient yellow glow of the dim lamplight. His hair was shaggy and red like blood. He stepped slowly. A cool breeze swept past Marcus from the open balcony behind him and stirred the uninvited man's long black shirt as he walked.
"Maybe you misunderstood me, but the party is out there," Marcus pulled out his gun, "I suggest you go enjoy it." The man's boots thumped softly on the floor, barely audible above the blaring music coming from the rest of the house. His pace quickened. Marcus was beginning to lose his patience, and this asshole was killing his buzz. He shot him.
The young man staggered as the round hit him in the shoulder. Blood oozed out rhythmically as his heart beat furiously, barely visible on the black silk of his shirt. He kept walking. Marcus felt adrenaline join the list of highs he'd been on for the night and fired again. This time the shot didn't even halt his target. He fired again and again and again, but Devin could not feel the pain. Something much more painful burned in his chest.
He kept seeing her there on the ground, her skin pale and cool. When he found her she was lying, her eyes closed and her mouth opened. A syringe hung from the crook of her elbow. He stood over her, not knowing what to feel. Her lips had been icy when he kissed them. All the warmth had left her body.
Devin asked her not to come. He had wanted her to know that she was always free to do whatever she wanted, but he asked her to listen to him just this once. She didn't though. She never listened, because she hated the way that he always thought he had everything figured out, the way that he was always right. This time so did he.
"What is it that you do, Marcus?," Devin asked, now within arms reach of him, "You've never worked a day in your life. You have a big house, you drive a Mercedes. How do you do it?" Devin grabbed the trembling hand that held Marcus' gun and put the barrel right up to his own forehead, right between his eyes. When Marcus looked into those eyes, he swore he could see the sun rising in them; he could see the morning star. An involuntary shudder cascaded over Marcus and he pulled the trigger. Click. Empty.
Devin grabbed Marcus' wrist and began to squeeze. Like an animal caught in a trap Marcus struggled and raged and cussed. He punched Devin three times in the ribs, kicked at his knees, pulled out a knife and stabbed him the stomach, but Devin stood just as stoic as a statue, squeezing the wrist. As the bones snapped, Devin thought it kind of sounded like biting into celery or a carrot stick.
Marcus' legs failed to support him and Devin grabbed his other arm as he spun him around, dropping him onto his stomach. The knife fell from Marcus' grip as the arm was wrenched around into an unnatural position. Devin grabbed his pinky finger and asked, "Do you think you'll go to Heaven, or to Hell, Marcus?"
"Fuck you," Marcus answered. Devin pushed the little finger back, further and further, until it snapped.
"It was really just a curious speculation on my part," Devin said, taking hold of Marcus' ring finger, "I already know, but I wondered what you thought."
"What the fuck do you want! What do you want from me!?," Marcus was wheezing now. His ring finger sounded kind of like marbles clacking together as it broke.
"I want you to understand the suffering that you've caused," Devin said, "But since that is not possible, since you live like a king on the lives that you've poisoned and ruined, I'm getting the next best thing." The middle finger broke swiftly. "I'm afraid you'll never play the piano again, Marcus," Devin said. Nobody ever heard Marcus scream. It was a really good party.
After breaking all the fingers on Marcus' left hand, and both of his legs, Devin picked up Marcus' little phone and called the paramedics. He walked over to the nightstand and looked through a drawer as Marcus watched. A little black book appeared from the depths of the drawer. Devin flipped through it and tucked it inside of his belt. He walked over to the balcony and climbed up on to the rail, looking back over his shoulder. "I'll be seeing you, Marcus. Get well soon. I can't wait to do this again sometime."
Marcus watched as Devin spread his arms wide and fell from the ledge like a star from the heavens.
Marcus raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. "Hey man, there ain't no bathroom in here. Can I help you with somethin'?"
His face was dark in the ambient yellow glow of the dim lamplight. His hair was shaggy and red like blood. He stepped slowly. A cool breeze swept past Marcus from the open balcony behind him and stirred the uninvited man's long black shirt as he walked.
"Maybe you misunderstood me, but the party is out there," Marcus pulled out his gun, "I suggest you go enjoy it." The man's boots thumped softly on the floor, barely audible above the blaring music coming from the rest of the house. His pace quickened. Marcus was beginning to lose his patience, and this asshole was killing his buzz. He shot him.
The young man staggered as the round hit him in the shoulder. Blood oozed out rhythmically as his heart beat furiously, barely visible on the black silk of his shirt. He kept walking. Marcus felt adrenaline join the list of highs he'd been on for the night and fired again. This time the shot didn't even halt his target. He fired again and again and again, but Devin could not feel the pain. Something much more painful burned in his chest.
He kept seeing her there on the ground, her skin pale and cool. When he found her she was lying, her eyes closed and her mouth opened. A syringe hung from the crook of her elbow. He stood over her, not knowing what to feel. Her lips had been icy when he kissed them. All the warmth had left her body.
Devin asked her not to come. He had wanted her to know that she was always free to do whatever she wanted, but he asked her to listen to him just this once. She didn't though. She never listened, because she hated the way that he always thought he had everything figured out, the way that he was always right. This time so did he.
"What is it that you do, Marcus?," Devin asked, now within arms reach of him, "You've never worked a day in your life. You have a big house, you drive a Mercedes. How do you do it?" Devin grabbed the trembling hand that held Marcus' gun and put the barrel right up to his own forehead, right between his eyes. When Marcus looked into those eyes, he swore he could see the sun rising in them; he could see the morning star. An involuntary shudder cascaded over Marcus and he pulled the trigger. Click. Empty.
Devin grabbed Marcus' wrist and began to squeeze. Like an animal caught in a trap Marcus struggled and raged and cussed. He punched Devin three times in the ribs, kicked at his knees, pulled out a knife and stabbed him the stomach, but Devin stood just as stoic as a statue, squeezing the wrist. As the bones snapped, Devin thought it kind of sounded like biting into celery or a carrot stick.
Marcus' legs failed to support him and Devin grabbed his other arm as he spun him around, dropping him onto his stomach. The knife fell from Marcus' grip as the arm was wrenched around into an unnatural position. Devin grabbed his pinky finger and asked, "Do you think you'll go to Heaven, or to Hell, Marcus?"
"Fuck you," Marcus answered. Devin pushed the little finger back, further and further, until it snapped.
"It was really just a curious speculation on my part," Devin said, taking hold of Marcus' ring finger, "I already know, but I wondered what you thought."
"What the fuck do you want! What do you want from me!?," Marcus was wheezing now. His ring finger sounded kind of like marbles clacking together as it broke.
"I want you to understand the suffering that you've caused," Devin said, "But since that is not possible, since you live like a king on the lives that you've poisoned and ruined, I'm getting the next best thing." The middle finger broke swiftly. "I'm afraid you'll never play the piano again, Marcus," Devin said. Nobody ever heard Marcus scream. It was a really good party.
After breaking all the fingers on Marcus' left hand, and both of his legs, Devin picked up Marcus' little phone and called the paramedics. He walked over to the nightstand and looked through a drawer as Marcus watched. A little black book appeared from the depths of the drawer. Devin flipped through it and tucked it inside of his belt. He walked over to the balcony and climbed up on to the rail, looking back over his shoulder. "I'll be seeing you, Marcus. Get well soon. I can't wait to do this again sometime."
Marcus watched as Devin spread his arms wide and fell from the ledge like a star from the heavens.
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Geez. ;>
(Thank you!