Spark and Sergio are screaming. Morrissey’s words. “Sister I’m a Poet” crackling through the car’s broken speakers.
“And is evil just something you are? Or something you do?”
A puff of black exhaust exploding into the October sunset. Sergio’s boot pressed against the floor. Clove cigarettes lit. Through the smokey air, the twinkling towers of downtown Denver inching closer.
“Did you bring it?”
“And nothing else.”
Pulling her black trench coat open.
“There will be. A last song. You ever hear.”
He spoke slowly. Deliberately. There was an eloquence to his words that seemed… magical. Hypnotic. Spark had been under its spell, his spell, for one year, one month, thirteen days.
“So what is it. For you. If you have your choice?”
Spark’s head resting in his lap. Looking up at him. To him. As usual. Streaks of blood red hair blowing softly in the soothing breeze. Jet black waves against a denim sea.
“God Sergio.. what the hell… That’s an impossible question.”
“No it’s not. I know mine.”
He always knew his. He was defined. Completely. Not an inch of his canvas blank. Spark envied that. Spark admired that. Spark hoped to someday be that.
“So enlighten me.”
“The last song. I will ever hear. Will be…”
He let his voice trail off. A mischevious smirk twisting across the piercing on his lower lip. Her anticipation, gorgeous. He loved teasing her. Intriguing her.
“Come on, come on, come ON!”
She rolled over and Read more
“Wanna see a magic trick”?
The tall, leggy blonde rolled her eyes. She’d seen plenty of magic tricks. Answered plenty of absurd multiple choice questions. Listened impatiently to pre-rehearsed stories aimed at reaching her ‘hook point’. Another pick-up artist in action. About to embarrass himself.
The front bar at Beta was bustling. Bartenders calling out to the well, twenties waving in front of impatient faces stacked two deep. She’d be waiting awhile.
Why not? She figured. Another sad story to send her friends into hysterics over half empty chardonnay glasses.
Marco moved closer. He could smell her now. “Love Spell” by Victoria’s Secret. He liked it. He should have known.
“I’m gonna tell you what you do, and what you’d love to do.”
She was tensed now. Ready for the show. Read more
The best blow job of your life. How much would you pay for it? Owen Moore had never considered the question. Then he found the answer. It was one thousand, seven hundred, thirty three dollars. He hadn’t paid for it, exactly. His company did. This year’s annual bonus had gone to very good use indeed. A round trip ticket for him; Denver to Las Vegas, Frontier Airlines. Round trip ticket for her; Los Angeles to Las Vegas, Southwest. One, strip view mini-suite at the Bellagio, overlooking the fountains. One, king sized bed. Two nights.
The blow job of the century happened on the first. Read more
“Happy Happy Fun Team” started as a joke. It ended with a body count. Gabe set up the public Google group after a particularly annoying interaction with his smug fuck of a boss.
Subject: Greetings, HHFT members!
Today I killed my manager! I kid, I kid. I just killed his chances at a huge promotion he thought he was getting.
Almost just as good.
This morning I got caught behind another stupid pile up on the Lincoln overpass thanks to some jackass who thought he could sneak through the red light. This happens once a week. Sitting in my car, staring at the clock as the last minutes before my mandatory 9AM start time ticked past, I imagined his obnoxious voice Read more
The greatest fires in the history of mankind have all started the same way. With a series of small, mysterious sparks. The end of the world started this way. Six sparks and then, a fire.
It’s 9:05 AM, July 3rd. 2011. On the 16th Street Mall shuttle in Denver, Colorado, a puzzled boy watches a well dressed, dark skinned man board the bus at the Stout street stop. There is one thing different about this man. He asks his mother.
“mommy? mooooommmmy? MOMMY”
She looks down, agitated.
“Why does that man have TWO backpacks, huh?”
She glances over. He does have two. One in front, and one in back. Both are bulging at the seams.
She begins to Read more
..5 hours. 3 minutes. 21 seconds. To live.
Jacob Bentley doesn’t know this yet. From the dimly lit hallway of the Broadway Holiday Inn, midtown Manhattan, a soft knocking. The first of the night. The second will be the last he ever hears. The doorknob turns. A woman appears. Actually, a girl. Petite. Asian. A tightly fitting pink hoodie fights against beautiful tits. College tits. Perfect tits. Designer jeans. A tattered bookbag slung over her shoulder.
She doesn’t look him in the eyes. He doesn’t want her to.
“Hi. Come in, come in.”
She looks around the room. Surveys the scene. A tornado of Read more
Juanita Rodriguez is about to become a very rich woman.
Her latex gloves burn as they always do. Itching against her skin. Against her grain. She walks through the deserted office with a sense of purpose. The gray plastic trash can she pulls is silent. It’s 6:43 PM, mountain standard time. Denver. Beneath the 11th story windows of the University building, the city breathes. Half tanked .net developers stumble through intersections. Tipsy harlots from Highlands Ranch plan their next move. Their next bar. Their next free drink.
Juanita smirks at her reflection in the framed motivational print on the wall.
“SUCCESS - What one may dream, all may achieve.”
Tonight is her achievement ceremony.
Blake Moore barely registers a blip on his radar screen. Digg has a fascinating story about American Apparel using nudity to sell clothes. He doesn’t even notice Juanita’s arrival. He should have.
See, the thing about Mexicans is, Read more
Another Monday morning in hell.
Lindsey’s toned, black nylon covered calves flexed above her four inch Prada heels as she reached for the top cabinet. The soft moaning floating down the short hallway separating the break room from the executive wing was already on her nerves. She was trying to hurry. If she finished setting up the coke, Read more
When you want to kill someone, what you do is, you think about where to aim the gun.
Contrary to what you might see in the movies, the money shot isn’t in the head or the chest. The true money shot is through the base of the spine. On a diagonal. Severing the spinal cord not only assures a ridiculous amount of pain, dropping the victim to their knees in a twitching heap, it also provides a lifetime of paralysis.
When you hate someone enough to shoot them, chances are good you don’t want them getting off easy. Bullet through the eyes? They’ll die alright. Probably immediately. But who suffers? Their families. Their girlfriends. Their kids. Meanwhile they’ve zapped out into the next plane or whatever and all your efforts at justice and revenge are wasted.
No, if you want to kill someone, take away Read more