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>> "Shot: Chapter 3" <<
by -> ANdz0oey
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"Goddamn weather," Christian softly mumbled to himself, but only with
passing interest. It had been cold like this ever since he had come into
this dismal fucking town, hopeful and alone, not more than two months
before. So why bother to complain? Christian didn't quite have an answer
for that question. Nor did he need one. There were other things on his
mind.
The sidewalk was illuminated brilliantly by so many far away stars,
and to a lesser extent by the street lamps strewn across the alley. But
Christian was tired of walking. His legs ached and his head was swimming.
Worse still, the prostitution house was closed, shut down for some
renovations or whatever, and even the subway had no room to sleep. He felt
helpless.
Yet there was the park. Of course. The wonderful, ever-frozen
benches of the park. "What a goddamn pleasant idea," Christian muttered
again, but with a little more determination. He truly needed some rest,
meaning that the park would have to make due.
The benches, green and wooden, weren't as cold as before, shaping the
ordeal as merely bearable, at best. It had snowed the night before, and,
for some reason or another, certain depressions in the grass were filled
with a kind of friendly looking ice water, neither cloudy nor muddy, but
pretty clear. Christian was enthralled. They were so deep, he thought.
Yet, in a couple of days, when it was just warm enough, they'd be gone,
disappeared forever, only to fill up again whenever there was another rain
storm. They were so quiet, so peaceful. Christian fell asleep.
He woke up an hour later, cold as hell, but generally fine. His mind
was still shaky, though, and his thoughts really weren't in the right place,
not in any way. However, extraordinarily, at the moment, he wasn't
dreaming. But rather remembering.
"i love you, angel, dear. you still awake?"
"hmmm? oh, yeah, uh-huh. i love you too."
"ok, alright, just checking. 'cause i didn't want you to fall asleep
when i was about to, you know, pick off the president with this lovely
sniper rifle from my dark, lonely room...
"what?"
"nevermind...nevermind, sweetheart."
"are you making fun of me?"
"yeah...just checking, you know."
"well, stop it!" she giggles.
later something different. painful.
"stop it," she pleads, but not in the same way. it's terrible. a
cry of anguish.
"no, i swear to god..."
"please stop...please. pretty please?"
"no, no...i mean it. i really do. i fucking hate her. you know
that? really. goddamnit, i cannot take her bullshit anymore. don't you
understand? i just can't... i'm gonna kill her....seriously...i've fucking
got to..."
"please...no...please," she cries.
Christian woke up. He felt sick, upset, disillusioned. It was
awful. Overwhelming. He pulled his arms tightly around his body, and began
to cry, softly, but forcefully. It was so cold, he thought. So very cold.
The tears that were pouring down his cheeks warmed him up a bit, but, soon,
sadly, even they would become frozen.
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #230 -- written by ANdz0oey -- 4/7/98 *