Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 27

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 27.

This is a flash fiction challenge.  The prompt is a song.  You are not required to write about or even mention the song.  It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan.  If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.

The rules;

500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.

Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.

MAKE SURE TO PUT YOUR TWITTER HANDLE NEXT TO YOUR WORD COUNT AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR POST.  IF YOU’RE NOT ON TWITTER GIVE ME AN EMAIL ADDRESS OR SOME OTHER WAY TO GET A HOLD OF YOU!

The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at 4:30PM Pacific Time on Friday.  You read that right.  Pacific Time.

This week’s tune… well, let me tell you right up front… if violence and profanity put you off this might not be your week here at the Blues-Buster. I’m gonna go ahead and tag this NSFW.

The tune is Samuel L. Jackson’s rendition of, “Stack-o-Lee” from the Black Snake Moan soundtrack. Sam rocks it… backed up by North Mississippi All-Stars Cedric Burnside & Kenny Brown.

Image

Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/bAss7LFXGTQ

This weeks Judge is writer, editor, & good pal, DS George-Jones…

That’s all from me.  The challenge is open now and runs through 4:30PM Pacific Time on Friday August 23rd.

Go write!!!

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Posted on August 20, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 11 Comments.

  1. http://cellarfloor.wordpress.com/2013/08/21/lovie/

    Lovie

    “You could say I’m a bodyguard. People hire me to make sure they’re safe.”
    “People hire you? You mean women work for you.”
    “I’d take on a man. I’ve just never met one in need of my services.”
    “And what other services do you offer?”
    “I’m a coach, a motivator. I give my clients the drive to earn money.”
    “What happens if they don’t earn enough?”
    “That’s not my concern.”
    “Well, what happens if you don’t get paid?”
    “Listen, I do contract work. My clients know how much my services cost. They’re contractually obligated to pay me. Same as you, I imagine.”
    “Yeah, but if I don’t get a paycheck, I don’t beat the hell out of my boss.”

    “Objection! Counsel is testifying, Your Honor.” Shelton’s attorney was on edge.
    “Sustained. John, get back on track. Let’s keep it to questions.”

    State Attorney John Sebastian grew tired of the wordplay. Shelton was a pimp and the jury knew it. The State had failed time and time again to bring him up on prostitution charges. But now Stag had murdered Billy Lyons and Sebastian wanted his pound of flesh.

    “Fine. What happens if you don’t get paid?”
    “Well, I have to get paid. I have a contract.”
    “So, you’ve never had a situation where one of your clients failed to pay you?”
    “Is that a question?”
    “HAVE you ever had a situation where one of your clients failed to pay you?”
    “Nah. I’ve had a couple of late payments, but we work it out.”
    “How do you work it out, Mr. Shelton?”
    “Like I said, I’m a motivator. I encourage them to get out and earn. If they don’t earn, I can’t protect them. They usually realize pretty quickly they’re much safer when I’m paid on schedule.”
    “Have you ever physically coerced a client into paying you?”
    “No.”

    Sebastian knew this was going nowhere. Shelton wasn’t going to admit to anything. The charge was first degree murder. He might have to settle for second degree if he couldn’t prove Shelton was a pimp –Lyons a disgruntled customer.

    “Mr. Shelton, where were you the night of December 25, last year?”
    “I was at the bar.”
    “Which bar?”
    “The Bucket of Blood.”
    “And while at The Bucket of Blood, did you see Billy Lyons?”
    “I did.”
    “And how do you know Billy Lyons?”
    “Aw, he was a loudmouth. Seemed like every time I went in for a drink, he was in there running his mouth about how he’d bedded one woman or another.”
    “Had you ever had a conversation with Billy Lyons?”
    “Not outside of telling him to shut up.”
    “Did you have a conversation with Billy Lyons that night? The 25th?”
    “No.”
    “So how did it come about that you were moved to take out a pistol and shoot Billy Lyons in the chest no less than nine times?!”
    “I didn’t do that.”
    “Then who did?! You admit you were there. You were there when the police arrived. Bill Curtis says you shot him twice before shooting Billy!”

    “OBJECTION!”
    “MR. SEBASTIAN. I won’t warn you again. Questions only!”

    “Mr. Shelton, who shot Billy Lyons?”
    “How am I supposed to know? The lights were out. I didn’t see anything.”
    “No further questions.” Sebastian was going to have to rely on the previous testimony of the other witnesses to make the case. “State rests.”

    “Defense? Cross?”
    “No, your honor. Defense calls Lovie Austin.”

    Sebastian riffled through his file. “Objection, your honor! She’s not on the list.”
    “Honor, she’s on the discovery list: Austin, Lovinia.”
    “There were dozens of clients on the discovery list, your honor. We deposed her. Her testimony was inconsequential.” Sebastian was confused. What was Shelton trying to do?
    “I’m going to allow it. It’s incumbent on counsel to depose thoroughly.”

    Lovie Austin was clearly nervous, her forehead beaded with sweat, eyes bloodshot. A high-necked blouse covered all but a dime-sized part of a dark blue bruise. She was sworn in. Stag winked at his attorney, smirking.

    “Miss Austin, were you at the Bucket of Blood December 25 of last year?”
    “Yes. And that motherfucker will never touch me again.”

    689 words
    @cellarfloorwp

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  2. A Disoriented Man

    It had now been two weeks since the woman to whom he had pledged his life, his love and his honor had left him. Even now, he remained unconvinced she had been entirely honest when she said she no longer cared for him and, as such, no longer intended to be wed to him.

    It had taken him weeks and he had endured innumerable hardships before coming at last to the destination he sought. While he was a stranger with no friends in this great city, the Chinese were a growing community in and of themselves and he had soon learned where best to look for Mei Lin.

    He stood in the shadows and watched the steady flow of foot traffic in and out of the Silver Dollar Saloon. He slipped into the main room as unobtrusively as possible, thankful to see the crowd was such that his Oriental features drew little attention. He cast his eyes about seeking the man who had been described to him and, at length, located him standing in a secluded corner of the bar. William Leone was the owner of this and many similar businesses and would be the one with the knowledge Li sought.

    He approached the bar and inquired of the barrel-chested man serving the drinks if he knew of any Chinese women recently employed at the establishment. The barmen told him there had been a “yellow whore” working here up until a few days prior. While Li was angered to think of Mei Lin being referred to in such a manner, he was more concerned with her current whereabouts. His mouth dropped open in stunned disbelief as the man continued to speak.

    “Slanty-eyed bitch up and hung herself night before last. Seems she didn’t like workin’ here as much as she figgered to and wanted to go back wherever she come from. Well, Mr. Leone done reminded her she had a contract with him and next thing ya know we found the crazy bitch swingin’ from the rafters in her room. Damned shame, too. Never got me a chance to try that out.”

    His bellows of laughter caused his large frame to shake and it was, at that moment, Li’s eyes were drawn to the twinkle of something shiny near the man’s waist. Hanging from his watch chain was a small, stylized silver dolphin. Mei Lin had always been fascinated by dolphins and that was why he had given her the thing. He’d found it in a market stall on the waterfront the day they left China. His expression hardened as he realized the only way the man could have the item in his possession.

    The bartender was still laughing when Li’s hand came up and the pistol in his hand bucked twice. A river of blood ran down the man’s apron and shirtfront and he died never knowing what had hit him. The sound of breaking glass as his body crashed into the liquor bottles behind him seemed to go on forever.

    Li stepped back and turned in the direction of where he’d last seen Leone. Reaching into his coat he withdrew his second pistol and began to move through the thinning crowd. He could sense the approach of Leone’s bodyguards around him and could not possibly have cared any less. If he would not be leaving here with Mei Lin at his side then he did not, truly, care if he ever left here at all.

    Though he tried to flee the retribution walking slowly toward him, Michael Leone’s body twitched and jerked as, one after another, the bullets slammed home in his body. Li continued to pull the triggers long after his rounds were expended and collapsed to the floor, his own body riddled by the return fire of a half dozen hired men. As the darkness took him, a smile came to his bloody lips, knowing he and Mei Lin would, never be parted ever again.

    659 words @klingorengi

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  3. Now, they done told me, “White people don’t congregate with them. They’s the wrong damn color.” But I knew they was wrong. They was people. Just like us. Just had different colored skin, that’s all. And I’ll stand by ‘em. What they done was right. And they had the guts to do what was right when all you white people pretended everythin’ was alright.

    I tried to stop Billy. I did. Stupid son-of-a-bitch never listened to no one anyway. I told him, “You don’t treat people that way, Billy! You don’t!” Billy never listened. He got with his boys, and they went out on Friday nights, and found some kid to beat up. Always a black kid too. He used to say he was preserving the future of the country, keeping them in their place, subservient to white people, like they was meant to be.

    Hell, he’d pick fights with ‘em just to get ‘em arrested, so he could take ‘em to court, and get everything they ever made, or owned. Courts work like that, you know. Hang the one that ain’t white, ‘cause hell, we know the white one’s innocent, and a victim.

    Billy got a lot of people’s lives fucked up, that’s what he did. And I told him not to. I warned him.

    But then, he married my sister. My little sister. Katie. Momma and Daddy loved her. And I wouldn’t let no one hurt her. Ever. Billy knew that. “Damn, boy, you sure protect your sister, don’t ya.” He used to say that all the time.

    I watched my sis walk down the aisle of the church in her weddin’ dress. Momma and the church ladies worked for a month on that thing. Katie looked beautiful. Better than any bunch of roses ever can. I listened as Billy and Katie said their vows. All that “to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, ‘till death do us part.”

    We buried Katie last week. She was only twenty-three. Everybody turned a blind eye. Talked about how sad is was that Katie died when she was so young. Billy didn’t even cry. Just stood there. “Real men don’t cry, you know.” That’s all he said. Everybody pretended like this was just some horrible accident. That God took Katie away. “It was her time.”

    But me and the people Billy destroyed. We knew. We knew what happened. We knew Katie didn’t die by accident. God never came and took my sister away.

    That mother fucker Billy beat her to death. He beat her every night. I used to see the bruises on her face. She’d lie to me. “I tripped and fell,” and “I bumped my head on the cabinet.” She’d tell me it was OK. But I’d sit with my sister on her and Billy’s front porch on Sunday afternoons, and we wouldn’t say a word. We’d just sit. And she knew I knew. Billy was beating on her.

    So, hell yeah. I went and I got my Daddy’s rifle. And I got plenty of help from them people y’all keep saying are the wrong color. They knew what Billy was. What he did. They knew he’d beat Katie to death. And they knew it was the last straw.

    Yeah, I got Daddy’s rifle. And we went and got Billy. And drug him out in the woods. And beat the hell of him. And when we all beat on him for a while, then I did to Billy what he done to my sis.

    I shot him with that rifle. And if I hadn’t run out of bullets, I’d still be shooting him.

    It’s what that bastard deserved. May he rot in hell.

    617 Words
    @LurchMunster

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  4. Andy Bartalone

    Sheriff Tillman walked into the main room of Cody’s Roadhouse and walked toward his three deputies at the end of the bar nearest the side door he observed the bodies being treated before they were shipped off to the hospital and on the far side of the room two men, Tim Shaw and a black man, being interviewed by a man he didn’t recognize while a paramedic gave them the once over. This must have been on hell of a brawl.

    “What happened here”
    “Well, that nigger boy started….”. “Dennis.” Tillman cut him off. Dennis started again “The black guy started a fight with the Jacobs brothers” he said stifling the grin on his face.
    “All six of them? There are more bodies than that”
    “Well I guess the cousins wanted a piece of the little nigger boy too”
    “Dennis, you can leave now” “How did Tim Shaw get involved, he is in town for his mother’s funeral”

    Dennis walked out the door.

    Tillman started again “Jeff…what do you have…there are an awful lot of guys going to the hospital”

    “Curtis” pointing to the bartender “he told me that Billy Jacobs didn’t like his sister dancing with the black guy and it just snowballed from there. Tim Shaw jumped in on the black guy’s side somewhere in between the third Jacob’s brother going down and the cousins joining in.”
    “So, Billy Jacobs started a fight with someone who beat the tar out of him and his brothers”
    “And his cousins, Sheriff”
    “Where is the sister?”
    “She wasn’t here when I arrived, and I was the first on the scene”
    “Has either of you spoken to them”
    Both deputies shook their head “Dennis wanted to wait for you”

    Tillman headed across the bar as the man in the suit walked away.

    “How ya doing Sheriff” Shaw extended his hand. Tillman took it.
    “Sorry about your mother, she was a great woman”
    “Thank you Sheriff”
    “Who is your friend” looking at the black man.
    “I’m David Smith, I serve with Tim” extending his hand. Tillman taking it.

    “So that is where you went ten years ago, your mom didn’t talk about it?” “What happened in here?”

    “Tim was in the head when it started, but that fella with the bandana didn’t like me dancing with Amanda and come over to make issue on it, he threw the first two punches and then I defended myself, Tim joined in when he came out of the head”

    “Yeah Sheriff, Henry Jacobs was picking up a pool cue and well…you see what happened. How much trouble are we in?”

    “Curtis seems to be on the same page as the two of you, so probably none. I need to ask you a question, before you left here to join the military you wouldn’t have stood up to the Jacobs boys, what changed?”

    Shaw smiled a little bit, “When the guy who dragged out of a firefight in Falusia needs your help, you help him”.

    buffalo@guisarme.net
    499 Words

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  5. The moon was fat and red, hanging low in the eastern sky, and the bark of the bare birch trees looked diseased and bloody. Allie shuddered, the cold seeping in through her thin jacket as she struggled to wake up after a day of restless sleep. Her boots crunched over the icy snow, just a layer over the dirt this far south as she made her way over to Billy’s Gator Hole, and her steps fell into rhythm with the thumping bassline making its way through the night. She’d spent every night this week at Billy’s, draining his stock of Shiner’s and fending off his advances – well, most nights. Their coupling on the rough wooden floor two nights ago had been sloppy and nauseating, and did nothing to scratch the itch that had been growing deep within her. She’d had to pretend to be fighting off cramps all night to keep him at bay last night, and she was sure tonight he’d be even more pushy. But there was nowhere else within walking distance to get drunk in this shitty little fuckhole of a town, and if she had to face the day without medication, she’d just explode.

    Billy’s was packed tonight, and she knew that more than half the eyes in the room were glued to her ass as she walked up to the bar. In the old days, she’d have taken care of these rednecks without a second thought, but she wasn’t interested in the little lives of little men, not when she knew there were bigger prizes out there. But they’d gotten a little too close to her in Phoenix, and she couldn’t stop bullets – not yet. Billy was busy with some loudmouth in the corner, and Missy, his assistant/part-time entertainment handed her a bottle without a word. God, how Missy survived around these assholes without braining them was a mystery Allie was not smart enough to solve.

    She leaned against the bar and tilted back the bottle, downing half of it in one swallow. The music changed to some raunchy blues song, and she let the music carry her away as she felt the first tingle from the beer. It wasn’t as good as a spark, but it was something, a bit of methadone for her habit. Missy popped the cap off another Shiner’s and set it on the bar behind her, and Allie allowed herself a little smile as she drained the last of the one in her hand. One of life’s great simple pleasures – a bartender who knew what you wanted and shut the fuck up.

    By her third beer, Allie was beginning to relax a bit, shrugging her denim jacket from her shoulders as she grew warm both from the outside and the inside. Billy flashed her his most charming-ish smile from the other side of the room, and she began to rethink whether she’d end up with before sunup. She was trying to decide which smile to give him when the door flew open. At first, she thought it was the wind, slamming it back against the outside of the Gator Hole, but that’s when she saw him.

    In a dim room, a candle can hurt your eyes, and this guy was no candle. He was two steps short of a fuckin’ nova, and everyone turned to stare, though only one person in the room knew what she was looking at. Hell, this guy didn’t even know what he was, but he knew he was something as he headed straight for Billy and shot him between the eyes, without so much as a “Hello” or “Motherfucker.”

    As Billy’s body thumped to the floor, the only sounds in the room were the wailing of a damned awesome guitar, and the man turned to face the crowd, his face split in a grin that made it clear he didn’t care if they ran or not – he had all night. Allie turned away from him and picked up the next bottle that Missy had set behind her. The screams started, and so did the gunshots, but she ignored all of it. She was rusty, but oh so hungry, and the time for fasting was through.

    700 words
    @drmagoo
    For a bit more on Allie, check here: http://projectgemini12.wordpress.com/tag/allie/

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  6. THE CONFESSION

    Lookit, I’m gonna tell you true. People are saying Jonesy did it but that joker don’t have the balls.

    Didn’t have no motive either. But me, I got plenty of motive. Two kids with empty bellies and clothes they outgrowed three months back.

    Opportunity? That’s where you got the time and the means, some kind of weapon, right? I had that too. Dose kids with enough cough syrup and you got yourself four or five hours to kill.

    So yeah, what’s the point of lying? It was me that killed Billy.

    Why? Why do folks always got to know why? Nosey shits. Let’s just say I shot his lowlife ass ’cause I was tired of being stuck with those damn kids, specially knowin’ he was out there screwing everything in hotpants.

    I ain’t proud of it but I ain’t sorry either.

    Don’t misunderstand. I like the kids okay, you know, for someone who don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do with ’em. I just ain’t one of those women whose meant to be a mother.

    That bastard Billy said he loved me. Said I had the sweetest mouth and biggest ass he’d
    ever seen. Said he’d never get tired of me. Four days later, I found him with my sister.

    Now, I don’t care what you heard, there was no misunderstanding what was going on there. What you heard is true. I knocked out her teeth. Don’t mess with what’s mine. I didn’t love the son-o-bitch but he was mine.

    Shit looks bad for me, don’t it? But I don’t want to go to jail. Sure, I need a day off from those little brats, but not nobody knows the baby likes the crust cut off her honey sandwich or that you got to bathe the boy in cold water otherwise he gets afeared you’re trying to boiling him for soup.

    Yeah, I shot Billy. Put nine bullets in him and it’d been more if the chamber woulda held more. But I don’t feel guilty and I don’t want to plead guilty. I sleep real good at night, you know? Sleep like a damn baby, all warm and safe now, you know?

    I mean, now me and the kids know that rat bastard ain’t gonna take our grocery money and spend it buying drinks for his buddies down at that damn Bucket of Blood. That bar done almost as much damage to this family as that man did.

    The bartender? Yeah, those bullets gonna match the ones that killed Billy. But that don’t mean I shot him. Coulda happened a lot of different ways, you get me? Like, maybe Billy shot him. And then I showed up, sweet-talked his dumb ass, and took the gun from him
    just so as I could turn around and shoot him.

    Listen. You’re my lawyer, right, so all this is confidential and shit? You get it set up where I don’t go to jail or lose my brats, and I’ll tell you who shot the bartender.

    Trust me, you ain’t gonna like it and you ain’t gonna believe me at first, but I got the proof, bud.

    I got to look out for my kids now, don’t I?

    So I always got a ticket to punch.

    That’s the golden damn rule of this mutha-fucking jungle, ain’t it?

    Now, do we have a deal or what?

    – – – – –
    @bullishink / 563 words

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  7. The gun goes off with the tintinnabulation of a thousand bells, sending my soul above my lifeless form and above the man with the .44, a man who looks surprisingly like Samuel L Jackson. The room, the light, the Earth, all dissolve as I’m pulled inexorably through transmigration, a sort of “Doctor Who” time-tunnel warp across the cosmos.

    Despite reports to the contrary, it’s not the dying that kills you. It’s the after. The journey. The unknowing.

    When you pass, they give you another body. I don’t know who they are, only that there’s two of them, and one of them looks like Don Knotts. I figured they assist the dead, assign them to their fate, which in my case would not appear to be the good place.

    The cool thing is, with these new bodies, your brain becomes smarter than Einstein. You pretty much know everything. Such as the fact, oddly enough, that hell is apparently located somewhere on Titan. Not the worst place for hell to be, I suppose, until you realize exactly where they’re putting you.

    Most are familiar with the notion of the Lake of Fire. Well, that’s where they’re taking me. Such a beautiful little world, Titan. A thin purple haze separates the atmosphere from deep space, the bright bursts of reflected light shimmers off Saturn in the distance, creating aurora-like displays, though the illumination is brief. Streaks of meteorites appear as candles, too numerous to count, across the sky. And from the depths of the lake, a lake of methane and ethane, clear as crystal, I will look upward and glimpse my only light, a tiny pin-prick in an endless night.

    Falling, I drop like a cinder block to the very bottom, as if through thin air. The liquid permeates right through me, a cold so cold it burns like fire. And I curse the name Sam Jackson for putting me there. My mind cries out to God, begging for another chance. And for a moment, I return to the surface. The one like Don Knotts responds, in terms uncertain, that I blew my chance at the bar.

    “Please,” I begged, “let me talk to God.”

    “You just did,” he answered, and dropped me back down. My mind raced through the implications before the pain tore through my senses. Somehow, I couldn’t quite get my mind around the most astonishing fact of all.

    Don Knotts is God.

    ———–
    400 words @ducknado

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  8. Steve was looking forward to tonight. It had been a while since he’d been out; she didn’t like him going, but he wasn’t going to miss out, not on seeing his favourite band.

    He asked her to come, but she refused, claiming she didn’t feel well, another ploy to try and keep him home. He would’ve liked her there with him though, maybe then she’d see there was nothing going on behind her back. He loved Sam, why else would he put up with all her abuse? But he’d be damned if he was gonna stop living just because of her petty jealousies.

    He pulled up in the parking lot and scanned the other trucks, seeing that Jake and Wes had already arrived. He sauntered over to the main doors and marvelled at how a simple barn conversion in the middle of nowhere had become so popular; the blinking pink and blue neon like a beacon into the night, calling them all to come and party.

    Much to the chagrin of those waiting, Steve walked straight in, the bouncer giving him a smile and a nod. Inside cheers went up when they saw him and several beers were lined up on the bar waiting. He handed his keys to Vince at the bar. It was going to be a big night.

    By midnight Steve was steaming, oblivious to everything around him except the band. Propped up against a bar stool he thrashed his head about to the beat, ignoring all the women hovering around him. It had been too long since he’s heard Harvey’s band play. But when a glass smashed on the bar and warm blood spattered his face he was suddenly sober, and seeing it was Wes, leapt to his feet.

    It only took two swings and the guy with the bottle was on the floor. He foolishly hadn’t noticed Steve – his mistake. The bouncers cleaned the guy up, but Wes was bleeding badly, so he and Jake rallied, along with the two girls who’d been standing with them.

    They all headed to the door carrying Wes, until a scream stopped them. When they turned, Steve saw Sam had one of the girls by the hair and was pulling her to the ground, punching and kicking her as hard as she could.

    Steve let go of Wes and rushed her; grabbing her by the waist and pushing up against wall, restraining her with an arm across her chest.

    “What the fuck are you doing?!”

    “I’ll teach that fucking floozy to mess with my man!”

    “What? Are you crazy? She’s got nothing to do with me; she’s helping us take Wes outside. Can’t you see his head? It’s been cut open!”

    “Yeah right, good cover.”

    Steve was speechless. He stood staring at this crazed woman while she struggled to break free, still focused on the girl who was being helped up off the floor.

    “Let me go!” She screamed, but Steve just pushed up against her, making it clear that wasn’t going to happen.

    “What the hell are you doing here anyway, you said you were sick?”

    Sam stopped struggling, although anger still blazed in her eyes. “How the hell else was I gonna to find out who you were screwing?”

    Steve nostrils flared, and he abruptly stepped back, the sudden release causing her to stumble and fall to her knees.

    “You really don’t fucking get it, do you Sam? I put up with all your shit and I still come home every fucking night.”

    From her prone position she sneered up at him. “What? You trying to make me believe that you love me? Ha, don’t make me laugh.”

    “No Sam, I DID love you, but I think I just stopped.”

    Steve turned to leave, but Sam grabbed his leg. “Don’t you try to make me out to be the crazy one!”

    “Oh no, don’t worry, your not the crazy one, I am; crazy to think that loving you would be enough.”

    Steve yanked his foot out of her grasp and walked to the door, taking one last glance back at the crumpled woman on the floor. She looked broken – just like his heart.

    697 Words
    @PurpleQueenNL

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  1. Pingback: Lovie | cellarfloor

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