Victim or the crime

3 Word Wednesday prompts are: bait, jump, victim



Shane reached for his pistol. He steadied the Glock 9mm and aimed it right between the fucker's eyes.

"Move away from the woman," Shane yelled. "Now, scumbag."
The tattooed teen was defiant.
Her purse in one hand, a blade against her throat, Jason had pegged her as the perfect victim.
She was blond, pretty, a little chunky with a nice rack and, most importantly, she wasn't paying attention. God, how Jason loved dumb people listening to iPods. The world could end and they wouldn't know until their playlist was over.
He didn't know her faux Gucci handbag was bait.
He also didn't count on being confronted.
But then again, he didn't care. He knew no chickenshit fucker wouldn't shoot him with this blond human-shield in front of him. Most people wanted this shit to be over as quickly as possible.
"Take my wallet."
"Here's my purse."
"This is all I have, please take it and go, just don't hurt me."
Those were the refrains. No one wanted confrontation. No one wanted any trouble. No one wanted to be a hero.
Jason knew the station was quickly approaching. He would wait for the doors to open, toss the bitch toward Johnny Law and jump off the train and into the crowded platform. No one would dare fire at him as he ran away, not even a limp-dick cop.
"Fuck you, bitch," the vato spat. "I'll kill this cunt."
Shane had the shot, but missed. Right as his finger squeezed the trigger, the subway train lurched. He lunged, fired and grazed the kid's left ear.
"Motherfucker," Jason screamed.
It wasn't the first time Jason had been shot, but, still, it's something you never get used to.
"I told you, asshole," he screamed as Jason slid the blade across the woman's throat. He held the bitch up tight to him so that fucker couldn't squeeze off another shot. Jason shuffled toward the door, dropped the woman and bolted.
He got two steps off the train before a gunshot ripped through his spine, dropping him instantly.
Shane looked to see where the shot came from only to see the blond, with blood spurting down her chest, holding her own pistol.
He ran to her, leaned down and whispered, "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't think he would cut you."
She looked up and smiled through the pain.
"Just get me out of here before the cops show up. They arrest vigilantes, you know."

what a wreck

sunset fades to dusk
dusk morphs to black
black becomes sunrise
sunrise climbs into daylight
daylight fizzles into sunset
life spins on a never-ending axis
tossing us around for its own pleasure
watching us bump into things
and people as
sunrise, daylight, sunset dusk and black
mark the time those collisions occur

Chance

The end of the day brings relief and reflection
The beginning offers redemption
The middle gives opportunity, a chance to succeed or fail.
Life puts forth time to master one, the other or all.

Love at first sight

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12 lines

The sun still rise
it still shines
no matter what happens
Good or bad,
life keeps moving
happy, sad
doesn't matter
to the ticking clock of life
our devestating problems
our smile-enducing triumphs
our life-altering decisions
are merely part of the fabric of existence

Friday night, home and horny (3WW)

3 Word Wednesday about six days late.

The prompts are:
acrid, bane, tepid


Fuck, he was horny. Fuck, he was pissed.
"Fuck them," the perpetually pissed off and horny teenager spat as he sat alone in his bedroom on Friday night.
Sixteen and stuck on restriction for breaking curfew -- again. He couldn't say it was worth it, but he couldn't deny it wasn't.
After all, he'd gotten laid the night before; by the lake, on a blanket beneath a full moon next to the shore. Twice, in fact, which was made him late.
"The smell of acrid smoke and horse's breath," Iron Maiden's Bruce Dickinson sang into the Bose headphones he'd slammed on trying to drown out the world.
She was good. Beautiful and willing, but mostly willing. Oh, he had standards, but the incessant search for carnal knowledge dulled those standards somewhat. His latest conquest wouldn't ever win homecoming queen -- for one, she didn't roll in that social circle -- but, hey, she was a solid 8.
And that was good enough. He'd tired of chasing little Ms. Perfect. He was beginning to realize that OK was good enough, especially when it came to girls, or women, or
No, she wasn't like the tepid girls he'd "dated" in the past, the kind of cocktease he'd wasted many a weekend chasing. The kind who only wanted a boyfriend to drag around school. He'd had enough of those bitches, the kind who clung to him when their friends were around, acting all attentive and loving, but who turned into an ice princess in the backseat after the football game.
As he cranked the music up even louder in an effort to punish his asshole parents, he thought "Which is a bigger bane? My lust for nubile female flesh or my parents' persistent insistence on rules and shit?"
"Defintely, the 'rents," he concluded.
Oh, how great life would be to come and go as he pleased, to stay out till all hours of the night getting nut after nut with his "8."
Fuck, he was horny. Fuck, he was pissed.

The sound of silence

It's quietness is deafening
It's tranquilty maddening
Silence is golden
until you crave the din of life
The chatter of children
the musings of friends
the sounds of sweetness
Yet, for all the noise around us
it's only when things fall silent
can we truly learn to listen.