He looked down and saw a spot of red slowly fanning out in all directions.
He finally realised he didn’t understand the meaning of anything as everything turned red. He sat down to contemplate his life while his head hung heavily towards his chest.
And the red continued to grow.
Connell wrote this in response to random and unprovoked acts of violence.
Hot metal ripped through warm flesh and I shuddered and sank to the ground. Her beautiful steely blue eyes stared mockingly at me.
“That’s your last shot!” I warned.
She smiled and blew me a kiss with those sultry red lips of hers and said, “No sweetie, the last straw.”
Connell Wayne Regner was inspired by Chris Griglack’s “femme fatale” in Love At Last SIght. His other dabblings can be found at paragraphplanet and wtdmagazine.wordpress.com.
A single thought echoed through my head like a broken record as she slowly uncurled her perfectly manicured fingers from the gun’s handle and let it drop to the blood soaked carpet beside me: This is a woman I could spend the rest of my life with.
And I did.
Chris Griglack was born and raised in Massachusetts where he has lived for 23 years. He graduated from the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth in 2012 with a degree in Writing, Rhetoric, and Communications.
Sigmund dove for cover, gunshots ringing in his ears.
“Hello,” said Carl’s ghost.
“Girly scream!” said Sigmund.
“You just killed me,” said Carl’s ghost.
“…Sorry?” squeaked Sigmund.
Carl’s ghost shrugged.
“Blam!” said Carl’s partner’s gun as it shot Sigmund.
“Girly scream!” said Carl’s partner.
“I’m really hungry,” said Carl’s ghost.
Cock gun, point gun, pull trigger. Only three simple steps separated George from vengeance. The stupid cow stood and blinked its heavy-lidded eyes, oblivious.
This isn’t difficult, George chided himself. Cock, point, pull.
He couldn’t do it.
It wasn’t his conscience. It was just hard to balance on one leg.