Writing Prompt #4

1486321271926.jpeg

I didn’t write Friday. Or yesterday. And there’s probably a list of excuses, but I’m thankful I waited for just the right time.

Remember how on Monday I said I sometimes have very violent thoughts that can be useful when I write?

Today is one of those days. And I’ve never been more grateful for frustration and fury.

The writing prompt for this weekend is: She had a charm on her bracelet for everyone she killed. Enjoy! (It’s a little longer than others, but blame the story. Not me!)

***The following content may be unsuitable for wimps, reader discretion is advised:

The bracelet rang out with the slightest bit of movement. It was a reminder, within a reminder, of all the glorious memories her subconscious deeply cherished.

She stroked each piece of jewelry that dangled from her wrist, recalling her favorites. There was the opulent crystal heart, representing a young woman who was rather deserving. (Then again they all were deserving.) She had married a sweet, kind-hearted man, but in turn cheated on him with anyone who breathed- before offing him for the insurance. She regretted nothing.

Then there was the ruler. Small, silver, simple. But the person behind it was none of those things. Not only was her size substantial, her mouth was infinitely wider. She was one of those self-entitled sorts, bossy and demanding. She’d lash out at even the most gentle of spirit. She’d drove several, knowingly, to the brink of suicide. And when they were close to the edge, she’d deliver the final blow herself.

There was the jester’s hat- the man it represented wasn’t a murderer by any means. But he invaded privacy, spoke nonsense, and was just plain obnoxious. She knew there had to be a reason, far worse than that for why he would be on her radar. But she didn’t care.

She rubbed her thumb and middle finger across the dolphin. She grimaced as she thought of the person behind it. She’d have taken care of them regardless of the job. The high-pitched, screeching vocals, the crooked posture- it was enough to make her want to bring the creature back to life just to off her again.

There was a sword, a book, a cross, and a truck. A bee and a moon, a flower and a spaceship. Each charm with a villain who’d had a date with justice. She was justice.

She sipped on her freshly brewed coffee, focusing on her next job. On the surface, he seemed normal enough. But through careful observation, even at a distance, she could see his true nature slip through the cracks.

He was very cunning. Very manipulative. Probably the smartest monster she’d encountered yet. He stepped out of view into a nearby alleyway, and she grabbed her drink to follow after him. This was going to be fun.

He was sulking in a corner, almost as if he had been expecting her. But that was impossible.

His eyes were sunken in and blood shot; he reeked of alcohol. When his eyes met hers as he lit his cigarette, a wicked grin spread across his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t.” Her voice clear and concise. He immediately stood taller when she spoke, because everything about her demanded presence. She sat her coffee down. “Major Henley, you’re sins have caught up with you. You have abused women, physically and emotionally too many times to count. You’re disgusting nature is irreversible. And for that, today, you will die.”

He looked at her, processing her words, and then chuckled. No one, ever, laughed at their crimes.

“Lady, I don’t know who you think you are but,” He shouted in agony, as she kneed him in the groin. He spit out his cigarette, but she caught it and shoved it down his throat. She slammed her fist against his jaw as he choked, not so hard to knock him out, but hard enough to make him suffer.

She gracefully moved with expert skill, making him double over as she kneed him again. She lodged the cigarette so far, he was forced to swallow it. She didn’t need a sword or a gun or a knife. Her body was her weapon.

“You think it’s okay, hurting women? Making them suffer before you murder them?” She held him up by his hair. But he responded by spitting blood near her face. He was fortunate to miss.

“Apologize and I’ll end this now.” He didn’t say a word. “Well, then.” She smiled. This was her favorite part. “Your someone who pushes your luck. I knew you were a four-leaf clover the second I saw you.”

She lifted her fist, and couldn’t wait to make him cry.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s