“If this is your love, I would rather be bled dry than let you anywhere near her.”
He smiles, the weight of his body shuffling under foot, a smile crawling across his face. “‘S funny you say that, actually. I was just talking to my buddy here,” he nods lightly behind him, the largest of his entourage stepping forward, a .38 wrapped around his elephantine hand, “says he’s tired of you getting in the way. Said he thinks a little blood loss might go a long way to making you see things the way they are.”
A gunshot rings, the flash of the barrel lost in the crumbling pain of a leaden kiss to the chest. Through the throbbing knife pain I hear his voice suddenly whispering into my ear like a schizophrenic urge.
“The city’s big, but you and her? Not so much,” the voice moves closer, “now you be a good boy and bleed for him plenty.”
I feel the cold press of his hand against the newly dug river in my chest sending me spasming to avoid him, but he holds me in place as surely as I’m not even trying to fight him, “he’s got a lot of walls to paint and the bodies ain’t coming like they used to.” He smiles to himself, “Not many like you anymore, boys with more gumption than they have sense.”
The hand and his voice disappears to the sound of footsteps. Something grabs me by the leg and I feel the sharp chaffing of concrete along my back. Eventually the streetlights disappear and I’m alone in the company of a disembodied laughter disguised as a growl.
Things are going to get a lot worse before they better…