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This is a question Will you go out with me?

"Bloody Kraut, a" asks, "How did you get your current flame to go out with you? If they turned you down, how bad was it?"

Was it all romantic? Or were the beer goggles particularly strong that night?

(, Thu 28 Aug 2008, 17:32)
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Romance is a funny thing.
The air hung still and heavy, seemingly anchored by the thick, omnipresent haze of cigarette smoke – a subtle smell that permeated everyone and everything in the bar as surely as the melancholy meandering notes of the lone saxophone player sat in the corner.

I wouldn’t have noticed her if I hadn’t caught a glimpse of her in the dram of single-malt I had put to my lips, her beauty unmistakable even in the rippling sepia tone of her reflection.

But most importantly, it was she who had been staring at me, her eyes locked on my back. I halted the scotch’s progress and turned to meet her gaze.

Jade eyes shimmered in a soft, slender face framed in luxurious waves of silky ebony hair, finished with a soft smile that glistened on ruby lips. Her cheeks tinted rose, either from being caught staring or from the empty cocktail glass delicately clasped in her right hand.

I raised the whiskey and tilted it, raising an eyebrow with a slightly cheeky smile of my own. She stood, gathering her purse and walked over to the bar, placing the small red bag between us before elegantly slipping her seductive form onto a barstool beside me, the cut of her little black dress offering a hint of thigh. She turned and smiled demurely.
I finally grew brave enough to break the silence.

“Might I offer you a drink?”

She accepted my offer, and as we sipped from our alcohol of choice we talked. We talked about ourselves, we talked about each other, we spoke of poetry, of vice and of virtue. We spoke for hours, delighting in each other’s company, our drinks left virtually untouched before us as the night grew darker.

I found I loved to make her laugh, watching her joy was a delight in itself, and I shared with her the numerous anecdotes and escapades that comprised of my life. She drank them in, blushing with that incredible demure smile as I likened her hair to the majesty of Hawaiian waterfalls, flushing rose as I asked her in turn of her life.

I sat, in rapt attention, my gaze never straying from hers, blushing a little myself as I caught my gaze becoming lost in her beautiful eyes time and time again. A bond had formed between us, two strangers speaking of life and sharing ours with each other over blushes and shy smiles, simple attraction giving way to a simple need for each other’s company, one that grew more and more romantic as the lighting began to dim, the other patrons taking their leave one by one until we were the only souls there, the barman making himself scarce.

The conversation faltered, leaving us both blushing as we realized we had slowly gravitated towards each other, now scant inches separating our eyes. Then she kissed me.

Our lips met as she softly shut her eyes, a brief embrace of the flesh. Somewhere, somehow, our hands found each other, palms pressed together as she pulled back, her cheeks aflame.

“I-I shouldn’t h-have…” She stammered, softly, and I rushed to stop her.

“I love you, Janice.” The words passed my lips with nary a thought, and I knew then, that very moment, that for once in my life it was true.

Her face crumpled, the delicate trickle of tears tracing matching lines down her face, and I caught her as she leant forwards, wrapping my arms around her and drawing her close.

“Shhh…Shhh… It’ll be alright…”

She sobbed into my chest, pressing herself deeper into my embrace as I made soothing noises, softly stroking the back of her head with gentle motions.

“I s-shouldn’t l-love you… Michael.”

I tilted my head, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, as she mumbled into my shirt.

“Shhh…Shhh… It’ll be alright…”

“M-Marcellus s-sends his regards.”


I felt the heat of the shot before I heard it. The sudden blossom of warmth on my sternum registered briefly, all too quickly replaced with a sharp flush of searing agony as the bullet tore a messy exit wound in my back.

My eyes flew open just in time to meet hers.

The hammer fell a second time, the muzzle of the revolver pressed into my ribs.

I gasped, not through shock but necessity as my left lung was punctured a second time.

The cylinder clicked smoothly into place again, a fresh round in the chamber, the hammer falling immediately as the trigger travelled it’s full course, and again and again as she fired another two shots, tearing involuntary strangled noises from my throat with each crack of the pistol.

The only thing I could think of was that she stopped on the fifth round, a smooth, practiced economy of motion that belied her appearances. An assassin’s control. It was then I knew how completely I had been fooled.

I caught a glimpse of her tear-streaked face as I slumped, my arms slipping from around her as I fell against the bar. My legs refused to hold me, and gravity won as I slid down the lacquered hardwood, smearing the mahogany with scarlet as I finally came to rest on the floor, sitting against the bar in a rapidly growing pool of my blood.

My strength left me completely, my chin sinking to my chest as I coughed arterial crimson in thin streams, my suit already soaked through, the blood still under pressure even as my heart stopped beating.

I barely heard the barstool hitting the floorboards beside me, nor did I see Janice sinking to her knees in front of me – but I felt her hand as it lifted my head, her lips finding mine once more. I focused on her touch through a supreme effort of will, fighting back the darkness with what little I had left.

“I s-shouldn’t love you, M-Michael. I w-wish I didn’t…”

She held me this time, her tears warming my neck as I felt her sobbing through my ruined chest.

My vision dimmed, my eyelids now too heavy to hold open, my legs now utterly numb as I fought for every tortured, broken breath.

“Hhhnghh… sssshhhhh…sh...shhh…”

My lips moved wordlessly as her slender frame shook against me.

“…t’ll…be all…all…”

I couldn’t hold it any longer. I choked, wheezing as I coughed red foam, the irony tang of blood filling the air, my once pristine shirt now a deep burgundy.

“N-no, i-it won’t.”

My mouth moved ineffectually. I no longer had the strength to draw breathe, never mind speak, but I heard it in my mind, and I could only pray she could read it on my lips.

“I love you, Janice.”

She kissed me one last time on the forehead, and I knew it was the last thing I would ever feel.

“I love you, Michael.”

The hammer struck a sixth, final note.
(, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 2:47, 3 replies)

(, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 3:01, closed)
you've got better now though right?
(, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 9:06, closed)
(, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 17:39, closed)

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