Seedy Spotlight: A Short Story!

Hi there. This short story was written today. It is very dark and raw. It will probably shock you, I was just playing around with words. There might be grammar mistakes. 

Thank you. There is also profanity, so be aware. 

He pushes me into the coffee table. He strips me bare and throws me down like a rag doll, keeping me straight, gripping onto me with a pair of iron fists. He slaps me around, like I can't feel the pain, I flinch, the agony surging through my body. His dirty, alcoholic breath, makes me heave, I feel sick to my empty stomach. I can't move, the unrelenting fight is falling into a losing battle. I halt the struggle, he has won, won me, I'm now his instrument to play with. He unzips his jeans and he plunges his p---- into me, nearly breaking and bursting my intimate area. The pain is relentless, and I can't do nothing, my body is shocked into submission, I hate my disgusting self, the mind in my head is thinking pessimistic thoughts, you would do the same if you were placed under this seedy spotlight. 

He finishes. He rises to his feet and throws money at me like I'm some w----. He spits at me too, like I'm a pavement or some dejected specimen. I get up, my back itchy and sore from the raw carpet. I place my bra onto my bare breasts, stretching my pain ridden arms through, I attach the seal. I then put on my torn white shirt and my black trousers and a cardigan to hide the bruises. He looks on, laughing at me with his evil eyes bulging, he's drunk and I'm enraged.

He sits on the expensive couch. He opens a packet of cigarettes and takes one out, he lights it up, sparking it like a firework. He then takes a drag, the smoke infusing his already black laced lungs. He then smiles at me with an insincere smirk, clapping his hands and throwing words like daggers, like darts that hit the bullseye every time, my self esteem is like that bullseye, studded and marked. 

I shake like a dog left in the rain, I cry tears of despair, he drags that f------ cigarette even more. I don't know why I've not left yet, I don't know why I haven't ran. I know he must not get away with it, what he has done is inhuman, disgusting and deceitful. 

'Do you want a swig of my whiskey you f------ dirty w----. Look at you, you think you're better than me, when I saw you in that club, I saw your beauty, but I also saw your lack of defence, you were so f------ easy' 

I look on, trying to silence the anger inside of me, it tries to overlap, it tries to breakthrough. I stand and I look at a lonely man who needs to rape a woman to get his kicks. I see an expensive apartment full of expensive things, only f------ things. He's rich and doesn't deserve to be, he's probably exploited people all his life, the f------ smug prick, thinking he can just take and not give. 

'Why are you still here? Get to f------, and if you tell the police, I'll come running' 

He picks up the TV remote and turns on his flash screen. He drinks the whiskey like he's an old man looking at his life through broken glasses. Brushing the crumbs off his shirt, I can hear the grumbling sounds coming from his whiskey soaked stomach. I can hear everything damn sound, the cars on the road, the ice cubes in his glass hitting together. When you're steeped in this situation, the sounds and the smells are even more apparent. As he stares at the football, I place my shoes on and I ask if I can use the bathroom, yeah I know, why would I want to stay longer, the numbness is keeping me here for some reason? 

I swerve past the bathroom and I enter the kitchen, I look around and open up the drawer. I see an array of kitchen knives. I pick up the biggest, sharpest one and I look at it. I can see a picture growing in my head, a snippet of skin being broken and blood pouring from a deep wound. I can see him f------ grovel for his dear life, I can picture his eyes still coated in complete sin. I sneak back into the lounge, he's oblivious to my movements. Taking a couple of seconds to think about the consequences, f------ the consequences, he's done this to me, he's betrayed me, he's a f------ traitor, a nasty human that spat on me and controlled me with his kind alter ego, now he's showed his true colours, colours tainted in black.

The TV occupies his mind, as I grind my teeth and raise the knife above his f------ evil head. I close my eyes and plunge the knife into his brain. He falls onto the floor and starts fitting, shaking, falling into deaths grasp. I throw the knife on the couch, it's covered in blood, his putrid blood. The feeling, the rush, the surge of authority streaming through me, I feel like I've overpowered someone for the first time in my life, I feel no remorse for him. 

Taking a minute to reflect, I then clean the knife and place it in the drawer next to the silver spoons. He was born with one in his mouth, I can see it, the expensive watch on his wrist, the cotton shirt that is now lamented in blood. The shaded windows, no one can see me and what has occurred, I put on my jacket and I leave the scene, I'll be running forever. 

Mark McConville