Poetry and Blood

a story
maturestrong languageflash-fiction
2015-11-04 20:35:26,
2016-03-01 15:57:36
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      William Bittersworth was a wild gentleman full of surprises. He had long hair pushing a little past his shoulders and always wore long, flowing coats. His face lied about his age for him, so that none were ever sure of his age, but those who knew him a long while suspected the years bounced off of him and onto them as they compare their youth to his.


“...rambling through the meadows of mind,

through the fields of emotional enigma,

one finds themselves returning to a state of ennui.

The world of our fathers is a far more optimistic one,

than that which we find ourselves.

Still, the monk walked onward into the sands,

in search of Mell’s flower.”


      A group of gentlemen and ladies clapped and cheered, smoke billowing out the windows of the lavish salon.

      However, one clap was out of pace, slow. It continued on after the applause ceased, and it made the crowd uneasy. There was a menacing lady, dressed to the nines, by the doorway, having just arrived.

      “You applaud in jest, madame?” William inquired.

      “I was told that the scoundrel who ruined my marriage could be found here.”

      “Mrs... Spinner?”

      “So you’ll be the responsible party?”

      “Don’t be so coy,” he said, lighting a pipe, “I may have slept with your husband, but I’m certainly not responsible for the state of your marriage.”

      She took out a gun and held it at him, trembling, “Give me one reason not to pull this trigger, you dry bastard!”

      He calmly walked up to the gun so that it was touching his forehead, “because you couldn’t find any bullets in your house this morning and aren’t stupid enough to go buy some on the same day you expect to murder someone. Gearford, P.D. keeps watch of unusual ammunition purchases since the Button incident.”

      She lowered the gun to her side. “You bastard.”

      “And because your husband will never have a better lover than I.”

      He’d infuriated her more than usual, but conquest after sexual conquest, William was getting rather cocky. He felt like an invincible sex god. Mrs. Spinner on the other hand, was at the end of her rope, and so swung the heavy gun at this “invincible” man.

      The gun hit hard and his cheek was bleeding.

      “I probably deserved that,” he groaned, “look, sit, have a smoke, dear.”

      She coiled back for another swing, but a few of the party guests had taken hold of her arms and removed her gun from her hand. She stomped in frustration, turned, and left.

      There truly was nothing she could do to him that would both keep her reputation intact or remain within the bounds of the law. William always knew the angles he could play. He delighted in the taboo, and such things required proper forethought, if one were to remain within higher society circles.

      William surveyed the room, “You, you’re next. Let your soul to bear for the audience.”

      One of the others piped up, “Now that all of your was smacked around for all to see.”

      “Quite right,” he said, looking at the blood from his cheek and smiling, “Poetry and blood.”