Postcard from Chinguashi

“Holly, don’t do this!  What kind of poison is it?  I gotta get to a hospital.”  Richie, he thought!  He wanted to kill Richie for getting him into this.  “Holly!”  People were looking up and Mike had stopped wiping glasses.  “Don’t kill me!  I’m sorry!”

“Truly?  Really, really sorry?”

“Get me to a hospital,” he shouted.  “I’ll tell you who made me do it.”

Her heels went clickety-clack to the door.  She turned and faced him as the sunlight backlit her like an angel of death.  “See, you think my father did something to your father so you had to kill him.  That means I have to kill you, right?  But I’m not going to let anybody pull me down, use the same evil methods.  I’m sick of violence.  I’m tired of war.  Tired of evil.  I called the cops, told them what you did, where to find you.  Guess they’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Joey felt grenades going off in his head, felt death staring at him.

The bar patrons had their mouths open, staring first at him and then at the girl in the sunlight.  A very large New York cop pushed by her to get in.





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)