My first attempt at crime writing …
Crime Doesn’t Pay
I slip in through the window like a ghost.
It’s laughable; even bribing justice, they don’t expect I’ll come. They’re lords of their own sordid empire, drunk on their own overconfident liberty. Still, if Gotham’s a diseased apple, you can always crush the maggots.
I glide to the bed; he’s there, dreaming an abattoir of lust. Maybe tomorrow, he’d make them real. I wake him, just to hear him beg.
“Please, dont kill me.” His eyes are enormous.
Streetglow decays my mask to yellow.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him, “I wont.”
I crack a leathered fist into his face.
“Not for ages.”
Link back to Julia’s Place.