Young Writers Society

Dylan the Vain

Alexander ran for his life, even running into the door on his way out and tripping over stairs before he finally reached the subway back to his neighborhood 10 blocks east.

Meanwhile, Dylan had put his beast of a gun away and picked up his hanging guitar with a blood stained B string. He strummed a few chords before smiling to himself and dragging his constipated body to his secret walk-in closet.

This is where he kept all the murder weapons.

This where all the action happened.

This is what I do for a living he thought to himself as he caressed a small army knife he placed into his pocket.

"Well, looks like I'm off to be a fucking professional."

Dylan Marie looked at himself in the mirror one last time.

This was for vanity.

This was for lust.

This was for self-inflicted reassurance of trust in the city.

He often found it rather strange that when he wore his gray suit without a tie and his pearly shades that he almost always got a nod from random strangers he passed along the street.

Maybe they know who I am? He wondered to himself often but always kept a straight face and made sure his dark lenses were angled so that they always made the sun glint in people's faces.

Here was Dylan Marie Valentino dressed in full vanity and murderous attire. He knew who he was and often glanced at those things he despised. There was an automatic list in his mind always accumulating the list of "Things that Annoy the Shit out of me" Abrupt thoughts form and he thinks of horrid things.

I don't like it when girls...

I hate it when guys try so hard to be...

I despise the music of...

I wish I spit on these assholes more...

He finally reached his ultimate destination on the corner of D Avenue and Gerald Street. He walks into the shopping mall with a highly sophisticated look on his face and a mark of gold gleaming in his eyes.

Up the elevator he goes in a showy gray suit with the white tie and his pearly shades. He looks like a man from the upper side of the inland island of the city. He smiles and nods to anonymous people and grins so much he looks like a model with his wild jet black hair.

Behind these dark lenses is a man of tragic disposition. The background staccato of the shopping mall mocks the situation and he walks around to search the floors for a potential victim in his next scheme.

An exotic fiery woman walks past with a tight large belly and short legs protruding out of her maternity black dress. She wears exaggerated lenses around her small face and brunette hair that highlight her features.

Sudden instances flash through Dylan Marie's mind.

Imagining a pregnant woman before she the seed was planted into her decadent womb.

He watches as more images are conjured and flood through his mind. Her spread open legs. Her face held up to the sky moaning and screaming. Everything before she gained the weight and got the urges.

Everything stops in his mind as reality wakes him up. He continues to walk and he almost bumps into a bearded man with a jolly big belly and a humble smile.

Sudden instances flash through his mind again. A designer snake tongue protrudes and stands poignant out from underneath a dragon. A pistol in his hand and bullet through the bearded man's face of whom he does not know. Man's face explodes randomly, scattering blood splatter on the thin plaster walls.

Flash back to reality again, Mister Dylan Marie Valentino.

Flash back and know it wasn't real.

This is how it always happens. Randomly. Random victims everywhere. It's like winning the lottery for Dylan.

Dylan now stands at the food court across from a deli and a fast food joint. Iridescent colors glimmer from the skylight above and it points to a lonely woman who is another of the fiery exotic types with platinum blonde hair and large obtrusive sun lenses. He smiles to himself as the sudden flashes begin.

Her face splattered across the pavement and porcelain teeth scattered along the beaches.

Thick red fluid bursting from exposed veins.

He starts off casually with a hello and is this seat taken. She smiles at the handsome devil and strikes up a charming conversation. Back and forth the discussion progresses from past relationships, sports, weather, and politics. He even tells her something beautiful as they share a cola.

"I really like fruit."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, my favorite would have to be pineapples."

"Well, I don't. I hate pineapple juice."

"To be honest, Crystal, I would have to say you remind me of pineapples in trees."

"Haha." Crystal falls into an almost hysterical fit of laughter.

"You're so silly, Dylan."

"No, really, Crystal I say this because you're so prickly on the outside and free like when they grow off their bitter branches. Yet, once you're inside it's sweet and juicy with a tangy twist."

"What a sweet thing of you to say. Well, I've got to get going though."

"How about I take you out for a walk to Cheryl Beach? It's not that far from here you know."

He grins as he slips back on his black eyes. She doesn't think twice before agreeing to his horrible acting.

They leave the fluorescent city of shops and the broken savannah parking lot.