Chapter One. Edited 27 November 2007
Rain beat against the glass, streamed down, and formed veins down the window. It had rained for what seemed like hours. Lights within the small room flickered on. A dim light, a broken light that was meant to be fixed when there was a need to fix it. Now, all that remained was the constant shattered image of what a light should do. Furniture was dispersed throughout the room in a hectic manner; another reason why she had left him. That was it, wasn’t it? It all came down to the whys. There was no why in his eyes now. No meaning in his glass. His chest heaved from under his sweat-stained wife-beater tee shirt. Curled, oily black hair wrapped around his pierced ears. Like the rain beat against the window and streamed down its sleek exterior, his thoughts beat him, crushing him under the weight of what he had done.
He sat crunched over on the end of his Motel eight bed, whiskey in his right hand, and a strand of hair in the other. Her hair. Yes, her hair. He could hold it this way. He could feel her forever. Remember the times before tonight. His eyes darted around at the torn bed sheets and the blood soaked carpet. Her blood. Crimson and wet, his eyes found what his mind had been telling him to find.
Her.
She, with flowing blonde hair, a beautiful smile, and a gash of sweet red flowing from her neck, carrying itself, like the rain, down its sleek surface. She was all he wanted. A bit of her to call his own. He had taken from her everything. Her bright blue eyes wouldn’t shine on his rugged face anymore. She wouldn’t scream and yell about other women anymore. No, she was done, a force now that was only a vague memory to the man.
He found solace in knowing she would no longer play with his heart, no longer seek comfort from those closest to her. Now, he knew, that he was the closest that anyone would ever be to her. In time, he found a way to smile at this favor that he had done the world. He gathered his belongings that he was to take with him, and headed for the door. He flicked the light off on that part of his life. He knew her face no longer and would never again be haunted by her presence.
Justice was served.
He opened the doorway quietly, remembering now that it was early and not to disrupt those around him. Peering down at the brass door handle did not prepare him for what he was going to face next. He gazed upwards at the gray jacket, at the black hat, at the hidden face. Fear crept into his heart. His belongings were thrown aside but before he could act, a leather glove struck him in the nose. Falling to the floor, he felt the front of his face become warm and tingle. He struck the carpeted floor hard. Thick, red blood covered his face and hands as he struggled to look back at his attacker. A soft click echoed in the hallway. A bullet shell landed close to where the man had been shot between the eyes.
That night, a gray jacket, a black hat, and a hidden face walked out of the doors of Motel eight and into the rainy streets.
Justice was served.
