Young Writers Society

When Mark left for his appointment that evening, he was a bit apprehensive. First of all, his client refused to use her surname when booking his services, only registering as Deborah - not something against his policies, but still a red flag. She also demanded they use a run-down apartment on the less-than-pretty side of town.

Mark, however, was not paid to ask questions. As long as this client didn’t have any too weird kinks (and he had seen quite a few weird kinks in his line of work), and he got paid his money, he was fine with whatever.

As he walked down the street, he couldn’t help but notice all the eyes on him. Of course, after a year in his line of work, he was used to the stares. There were two kinds of people looking at him - those who knew what he was and insulted him in their minds for it, some out loud; and there were those who were ready to pay for his services. He didn’t care for the former, and he couldn’t blame the latter. After all, at age twenty-one, he considered himself a veritable Doryphoros. Every inch of his golden body looked as if it were sculpted. He had the perfect face, the perfect muscles, the perfect brown hair, the perfect piercing blue eyes. He was an anomaly, and he knew it. But he was used to it now. He was just a man, living his life as best as he could.

As he approached the block of flats, the doorman held the door for him - something Mike figured was only a luxury for select people. He looked back at the doorman, whose eyes seemed to be on the golden man's open chest. Mike gave him a wink before turning and walking away. Perhaps he had found his next client.

The apartment was on the highest floor, at the end of the corridor. Mike thought this only added to the oddness of this all, but then, he had already decided to ignore it all. He raised his hand to knock but noticed the door was already open. He pushed through and walked inside, wondering what his client would look like.

The woman in front of him was, to put it in one word, beautiful. She looked old. Mike guessed she was in her forties, but her dark skin was almost flawless, save for a few scars on her arms, and her long hair was done in locks. She only wore a robe that perfectly outlined her figure. Her eyes were brown and seemed to stare into his soul. Mike couldn’t quite place it, but he thought he saw a mischievous glint in her eyes. As he studied her, he knew immediately that she would be the one taking the reigns during this session, and he was absolutely fine with it. It had been a while since he had had a client whom he was looking forward to enjoying his time with, rather than just looking forward to the money.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he said.

“What?” Deborah laughed a deep, beautiful laugh. “Were you expecting an old hag?”

“No no,” he said, “It’s just that, I must say, I’m looking forward to this.”

“I’m suitably flattered,” she said. “What can I say?” she spoke in a sultry voice as she slipped off her robe, revealing her naked body. Mike saw a couple more scars, but apart from that, she was perfect. “Black don't crack.”

Mike didn’t know when his clothes came off. Soon enough, Deborah was on top of him, riding him, moaning and grunting. After a few heavenly moments of this, she got off him, walked to the cupboard, and opened it to reveal an array of tools that Mike would have described more as weapons than pleasure givers. The whips had spikes on them. The pinchers were pointy.

“Um?” Mike asked.

Deborah laughed, but this time, it wasn’t deep. It had a mischievous undertone to it. Mike suddenly noticed he was sweating profusely. The fear was almost enough to make him soft, but he didn’t dare for fear of what she would do to him.

Who is this woman?

“Don’t worry, darling,” she said, “I’ll make sure to use all of these on you. But first,” She bent down, opening a secret cabinet. She removed an object. It was small and metal, but Mike couldn’t quite make it out…

“Let’s play a game!” she announced, waving the gun in the air.

Mike felt his heart rate spike. He would have dared to run if he could move his legs.

Deborah climbed back on top of him. “Ever played Russian Roulette?”

Mike’s mouth wouldn’t open, so he just shook his head.

“Well, I’ll just have to teach you.” She licked the gun, rubbing it all over her body and his chest. She bent over him to reach a drawer from which she pulled out a single bullet. Mike watched with fear in his eyes as she put the single bullet into the barrel, and spun it.

She bent down to his ear, biting it a little, and whispering, “You first.”

She aimed the gun at his head.

Mike didn’t want to go out like this. As he stared down the wrong side of the gun, his whole life flashed before his eyes. He was still young, with so much potential. He couldn’t die this way. The mischievous glint in Deborah's eyes was now a wicked shine. She was enjoying this. She was a mad woman.

She squeezed the trigger. Mike closed his eyes, trying to find peace with his end. He flinched at the click! It was a blank. He was alive. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“My turn!” she squealed, pressing the gun against her temple.

The woman was crazy, Mike was certain. He only hoped the next cartridge wasn’t a blank.

Just before she pulled the trigger, the door came crashing down. There was a moment of silence as the dust lifted. The intruders, whoever they were, seemed to be stunned by what they were looking at. Deborah on the other hand…

“Oh, come on! Already?” She exclaimed.

“Police! Drop the gun and put your hands where I can see them,” one of the intruders said after he got out of his shock. Mike was saved.

Deborah let out another laugh. She got off Mike, still holding the gun. He immediately used his hands to cover his privates.

“You wouldn’t arrest me naked, would you?” she asked, picking up her robe.

“You are under arrest for the murder of twelve people, including three children!” the man announced. “I repeat: Drop. The. Gun.”

Mike wanted to sink into the bed. He was sleeping with a murderer? What if she was going to be his next victim?

“Is this person your accomplice?” the officer asked.

“Oh no,” Deborah said, “He’s just an innocent boy. The only crime he has made I would imagine, is being too beautiful.”

“Drop the gun.”

Deborah counted the men in front of her. There were only half a dozen of them.

“You know, you should have brought more men. You seem to underestimate me,” She said.

“What?”

It happened before anyone could react. Mike was in front of her, with his hand behind his back - a veritable human shield. She aimed the revolver and, Click! Click! Bang! The bullet embedded itself in one of the officers' heads.

“I win!” she exclaimed.

She tossed the gun at another officer with so much force that he fell to the ground. She pushed Mike into the group of officers and immediately jumped in after him. She grabbed an officer but the head, snapping his neck in one swift motion. She grabbed his pistol and, using his body as a human shield, shot another two officers down.

Mike struggled up, just for Deborah to grab him again. She tossed him at one of the officers while lunging for the other one, driving her knee into his groin before implanting a bullet into his brain.

She turned to face the officer Mike had fallen into, quickly shooting him down just as he was about to get up.

“This is fun!” she exclaimed, turning to the last man standing, who was the officer trying to arrest her.

They levelled their guns at each other's heads. They both pulled the trigger at the same time.

Bang! The bullet missed its target, embedding itself in Deborah’s shoulder, while her gun only made a Click! Sound.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, nursing her shoulder.

The man aimed his gun again and this time, Deborah was certain he wouldn’t miss. She tossed her gun at him but he only blocked it with his arm. However, that was only the split-second distraction she needed. She lunged, shoving him to the floor. His gun flew out of his hand, and out of reach of the both of them. They struggled on the floor, but her injured shoulder gave the officer the upper hand. He was quickly on top of her, punching her in the face over and over. Warm blood rushed into Deborah’s mouth. She smiled, a big toothy, bloody smile.

“You won't be smiling soon, bitch!” he said, pulling out a knife.

Deborah did the only thing she could. She balled her fist and, with as much force as she could muster, punched the officer in his groin. The knife dropped, clattering only inches next to her face. The officer grabbed his groin, rolling over in pain.

Deborah got up, grabbed the knife, and casually walked over to the man.

She sat down on him. “Pathetic,” she whispered. She rubbed his groin with his free hand, smiling wickedly.

“P-please,” he sputtered.

She drove the knife into his chest, pulled it out, then stabbed him again, and then pulled it out, again and again and again. She watched the life leave the officer's body and laughed at the spray of blood that was coming from it.

She climbed off the latest cadaver, walked to the bed, and collapsed, face up.

“Now, Mike,” she said, “shall we continue what we started?”

But there was no answer. She began to wonder if Mike was killed in the melee. She counted the bodies, but there were only six - Mike’s body wasn’t part of them.

Mike was already down the street with most of his clothes in his hands waiting for the next bus to come. He only dared to put on his boxers before he crawled out of the apartment. After which, he didn’t stop running until he made it to the bus stop. This time, there was only one kind of person looking at him; they were all thinking the same thing: What the hell happened? He didn’t even stop to get the name of the hot doorman. In any case, he had already made the decision that he would make a change to his line of work. Once he got home, he took a shower and collapsed on his bed, hoping that when he woke up, it would have all just been a dream.