No Hesitation

Warning: This piece has quite a bit more profanity than I'm used to posting online and deals with a touchy subject—one that has touched my own family, and even myself. That's not an easy thing to confess. I apologize in advance if I offend anyone. I'm not advocating violence as a means of escape, but once upon a time there weren't many other choices. I also know there are decent fellows out there in the world, and I salute them for being the 'real men.'. I wrote this as part of a prompt for Creative Writing class. The assignment was to write a very short piece of conflict, starting  the story with: "This is what I should have done..."

No Hesitation

This is what I should have done. I should have pulled the trigger instead of hesitating long enough to talk myself out of it. The son of a bitch would be dead. 

I’d be in jail, but I’d be free. Free from nasty, hate-filled smirks...narrowed eyes a searchlight for any excuse. Free from waking up and not being able to get out of bed because something else might be broken besides the perpetual promise of “Never Again.” Free from my now twice-weekly duty of being a Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot. 

I should have pulled the goddamned trigger and blown his fucking brains all over the pillow while he snored, sleeping off his latest binge of whiskey and Whack-a-Me. Why didn’t I? Was I afraid I’d miss and he’d wake up, snatch the gun out of my hands and shoot me instead? He was so far gone that a KISS concert wouldn’t have disturbed his peaceful slumber. The gun had a brand new clip in it, so what if one bullet went wide...there were more. I could have put a sweet plug right between the motherfucker’s eyes and ended both my pain and his. 

Too late for that now, I think, as I set my face in grim determination to endure another round with the Raging Bull. He is between me and where the Glock lies hidden. All I can do now is take the blows and admonish myself. 

Why the hell did you even buy the goddamn thing? I ask myself as his wrath begins raining a hailstorm of blows. 

Go on, I silently urge him. Get it done. 

That’s right. 

Get it done and go to sleep. 

I may have just enough strength left. 

And this time, there will be no hesitation

An Auto Mechanic's Wet Dream

Jack stripped and lay back on the red satin sheets while she straddled him. He could see tiny niblets centered within dark aureolas and a curly, brown triangle beneath her translucent pink baby-doll, which she slowly lifted over her head and tossed into a nearby chair. 

Their lips met and they reached for each other simultaneously; their bodies becoming a tangle of tongues and fingers. 

Suddenly, they stopped, mid-foreplay.

“Jasmine,” stenciled in curly vines and decorative roses about two-inches above her left nipple, looked down disparagingly at Jack's deflated, mingy manhood and sighed: 

"I'm sorry, sir, but that hose is in awful shape, and since it's one of the smaller models, I’m going to have to charge you more for the parts and labor to get it functioning again." 

Hell Hath No Fury

“Cheating bastard!” I fumed and waited for Donald to come home.

I found out about the affair six months ago and spent the last two preparing my goodbye. I waited calmly, just beyond the perimeter of my hastily scrawled handiwork. I heard the key turning in the lock.

Donald stepped inside and smiled at me. “Hi, honey! I’m home.”

His last words echoed shock and pain as he was suddenly consumed by the bright, hot flames which erupted and descended back into the pentagram scratched upon the floor where Donald had once stood.

“No,” I laughed madly. “Now you’re home.”