Friday, February 12, 2016

The Woman Who Entered the Room

She entered the room as if she had something urgent to say. The glass inside the window pane of the rusted red wooden door slammed behind her, rattling inside the frame, coming close to the point of shattering into pieces. The movement of the window echoed the vibration of her skeleton and beat of her heart. She stumbled over the lining of her dress - once laden with lace, blue hued pearls, and sheen white satin underlining - tearing the end of it even more than it had been. Her eyes did not move from the man in the room she had come to murder. The drums that had been beating in the background from the first and previous night of their meeting beat steadily on inside her head as she marched towards him.
Her face was smeared with mud on top of a face dried up with tears and sunshine. The closer she came the red hue of the mud showed its true nature and origin. There was neither judgement nor pleasure as she approached him.  As she did he took the top hat from atop his head and held it over his heart as his eyes gaped open an pulled back deep and tightly in his sockets. It’s hard to say if he truly understood the predicament he had put himself into. Not a whisper left his lips before he felt the cool round bullet that penetrated his chest, go through his lungs, and out his left shoulder. The sound of shattering bone fell silent and crude on the room of men circling the table from where they had been playing a heavy hand of poker. He fell out of his chair and thudded hard against it feeling the shoulder blade that had broken out of his back before realizing he was in his resting place. As he lay there on the ground and felt the coldness of winter winds through the wooden floorboards beneath him seep up from underneath the basement he could hear the sound of his sons being shot down next to him, one, by, one.
The blood from his wound was the only thing that brought warmth in those last minutes. And in those last seconds he saw the torn and dirtied ramshackled lining of her skirt. She lifted her skirt exposing her laced up black heeled boots of a witch and set the foot of it over his neck. Aiming the barrel of the gun down at him with a smirk, she cocked back on the 10mm pinfire revolver her father gave her and let out a slight chuckle... giving the man what she intended to deliver...

Willy Tea Taylor - Molly Rose

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