My eyes trace the same curves over and over, like paper never truly absorbing ink. Gentle folds of skin stand in contrast to stark bone.
She had been so … welcoming, so polite.
“Yes doctor, please, come in. A drink? Food? Of course, anything for you.”
Though she had nothing to give in the end, a couple of blackened lungs, a spoiled liver.
Her eyes, crystalline blue, I would have taken those.
Why did she have to turn it the way she did? It shouldn’t have come to those utterances of hers.
“I think you’re mistaken. I don’t think so. No.”
And in this world, a woman of her standard owning a gun?
My soul will rest easy, hers I’m not sure.
I clean my tools meticulously, disposing of the browning apple core, used condom and bloodied cloths in her make shift fire pit.
I collect the money, laid on her poorly made wooden table … beforehand … in plain sight.
The first sign of trouble.
“Of course I trust you doctor.”
Outside the madam keeps an eye on rowdy drunks. I pass her a handful of crumpled bills.
“Made a bit of a mess, might let her sleep.”
She tucks them away, her eyes never straying from the stumbling fools, never truly catching sight of me.
They never do.
I wrote this as homework for a writer’s meeting I went to. I’m not sure yet where it’s going or if it can go anywhere else. I imagine this character has a bit of wanderlust though.