Day 27: 30 Days 30 Stories

The blood from the gunshot wound on his right shoulder wasn’t bleeding very fast, which meant that it either missed the artery or he had lost too much blood already. He dipped the tip of his left index finger into the small pool of fluid at his elbow and wiped it along his jeans leaving a dark smear. His vision was going blurry, he knew the door in front of him was the right hotel room but the six was starting to look like an eight.

His bloody fingers slipped on the knob on the first attempt but he was successful on the second try at opening the door. Along with the gunshot on his shoulder he was pretty sure he had a couple of broken ribs and most likely a concussion just to top it off. The sound of a hammer being cocked back into place made him sigh.

“Sit down,” a voice commanded from within.

He closed the door behind him and then stumbled over to the one chair in the cheap room.

“You’ll want to turn on the TV,” he closed his eyes. “This isn’t the best neighborhood but a gunshot will still attract attention.”

He smiled as he heard the TV click on, “I knew this place would be the death of me.”

“You should of stayed away, Rick,” the chill in her voice threatened to turn her brown eyes blue.

“Should have,” he held up a lazy finger to correct her. “Just because you look like white trash doesn’t mean you have to sound like it.”

She stood, crossed the room, and pressed the gun to his forehead, “smart ass Ricky is going to get his smart mouth shot off.” Her laugh was akin to a dog choking. “Ricky the Wrecker, best muscle money can buy, got a brain on him too. A big thinking man who takes your word as bond, screw you, Wrecky.”

He opened his eyes and looked back at her, “I have always hated that nickname.”

For a moment they stayed like that; her with the gun pressed against his forehead and him simply staring back.

“I don’t know if you realize this but I’ve had my ass kicked today,” he laughed. “The only reason I haven’t made you eat that gun is the fact that this chair is really comfortable.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Pull the trigger or get out.”


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Filed under Short Fiction, Writing

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