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Absinthe Minded

By David Hawk All Rights Reserved ©

Horror / Horror

Just a Little

Sunlight flooded into the large bedroom as Zoë whipped the Royal Blue drapes apart. The warmth washed over her twenty-five year old naked body as she stood soaking up the late afternoon rays. Glancing down to the damp cold street below a tramp stood open-mouthed looking straight at her ample breasts. Playfully blowing him a kiss she turned and rolled onto the king-size gothic-framed bed.

Her head came to rest on a large peach pillow and her eyes on a teardrop-shaped bottle sat on a dressing table in front of the facing wall. She sat upright then slowly crawled across the salmon colored quilt, her gaze transfixed by the bottles emerald liquid. Leaning over she wrapped her recently varnished fingernails round the neck of the bottle and held it up in front of her piercing blue eyes. She spun the cap off and placed it on the dressing table then swirled the contents round like a master wine taster.

Out of the corner of her eye a silver-framed photograph caught her attention.

“I’ll only have little bit Bobby, I promise.” She pleaded with the picture.

The screw cap spun to the floor and she inhaled the sweet aroma. Her tongue snaked its way round the narrow glass rim as it lapped at the liquorice residue left by the cap. The oval base of the bottle rose toward the white plastered ceiling and her body shuddered as the green liquor rushed over her soft red lips and slid down her throat. She paused, lowered the bottle and looked back at the photo.

“See I told you I’d only have a little baby”

She blew a kiss at the photo and reached out to lower the bottle to the dressing table but she hadn’t judged the distance right and only half the base was on the laminate surface. Her fingers and eyes were out of sync with her brain as the fingers let go and her eyes and mouth widened in terror as the bottle teetered on the edge of the dressing table before slipping and dropping to the hard wood floor.

The smash echoed round the apartment. The green liquor burst across the floor and quickly disappeared between the cracks in the wood. Zoe sat there in shock, unable to move and a tear pooled in the corner of her right eye.

She jumped from the bed, grabbed a small hand towel from the radiator on the right-hand wall and desperately started to clean up the slivers of broken glass. She glanced up at a large ornate clock on the far wall, which spurred her into cleaning up even quicker.

The silver-plated Desert Eagle hidden by Bobby’s black padded jacket, dug uncomfortably into his spine as he made his way down the unintentionally crazy-paved street. But uncomfortable or not in this neighborhood it was staying there. In the six months he and Zoë had been in this forgotten estate at the edge of the city they had seen plenty of violence but fortunately none of it had been directed at them.

The T-junction where Brevrett Street met Milestone Avenue was like an invisible border. Once you were on the other side of the road you were on your own, no police, no paramedics, no fire service, no one. Bobby tugged the red baseball cap lower over his forehead and pulled the brown paper bag closer to his chest as he stepped over into Milestone.

The yellow glow of the early evening sun splashed a false sense of cheer over a maze of gray and decaying walls. Discarded candy wrappers and flyers scampered round his ankles like excited puppies as an icy chill brushed effortlessly passed him. Drapes twitched and eyes followed from behind the rows of grime-laden windows above. He turned a corner and strode quickly along a deserted Winston Drive.

The reinforced door clunked satisfyingly closed behind him and he trudged up the concrete steps.

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