Nov
Ninety-Nine
by Richard Trevithick
I stepped off the train; my boots hit the snow-covered forest floor with a soft gentle ‘thud’. I stumbled on the landing, putting a few yards between the old steel horse and me. There was a thump from behind, and then a burlap sack tossed at my side. There was no doubt of what the contents were. Casually turning, my gaze met his icy glare.
“Ninety-eight… ninety-fucking-eight. No one was supposed to die… We… had a deal.” He said, with a heavy, tremulous scowl, “We had a deal!” His quivering voice cut through the midnight air like a knife; the tears in his eyes shimmered in the moonlight.
The edge of my mouth furled upwards.
“I didn’t think anyone would mind, Mr. Conductor.” The words that slithered into his ears were dripping in twisted, deviant sensuality. Alas, my toxic, little tongue only further revolted my prey.
“You… you monster!”
The horror in his eyes, the disgust in his voice… it made my chest pound and my toes curl. He surged forward, making my heart flutter; he towered over me, only a foot or two away.
“Could you honestly walk up to their friends, their family- the widows, the orphans- and say, “I killed you cousin, your nephew, your daughter, your brother, your father… your mother…” He looked deep into my eyes; I looked deep into his. He wordlessly searched for an answer; I aimlessly wandered.
I smiled; he recoiled.
“You… You could. You honestly could…” He was like a baby doe; so innocent, so scared… so appetizing. “I… I don’t want to see you ever again…” He took a step back, “I’m gonna call the cops, I swear. You have your share; get out of here!” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone; I reached into mine- but for something else.
“I’m warning you-“ Before he could say another word, I pressed my body against his, beaming up at his hatchet, pain-stricken face.
Eyes wide, he gawked at the glinting strip of metal running through his gut. His body contracted, my other hand reaching up to feel his tensed, defined arms. His phone dropped to the snow, his body soon to follow.
I straddled his waist, withdrawing the lustrous dagger, repeatedly submersing it inside his alabaster flesh. Like a hungry pup, I lapped at the vermillion liquor spewing from his chest. It was strong, like ambrosia- and even more delicious. After long last, we were finally alone, drenched in each other’s passion and inebriated by the pungent hue of our love.
“It was never about the money, darling. Actually, I’m a little insulted you thought I was so…. materialistic.” Then, leaning over, I whispered into his ear:
“I was always in it for the ride.” I licked his pretty, rosy lips, nipping them playfully. “But don’t worry,” I soothed, caressing his cheeks as lovingly as I could, “in a few minutes, you’ll never see my face again.”
Tiffany V
I integrate Transformative Language Arts into any work I do, and I work with people all over the world, but I can't tell you who they are, due to NDAs! I was once told, “you exude art.” So, I decided to spend the rest of my life helping other like-minded individuals get to do the same. Let’s do something magical together!
Yikes. Well that brought shivers to my eyes and cells. Descriptive and oh so nasty. Riveting and well done.
Does your Mother know you write stories like this???
Okay, I ain’t calling the kettle black, I think you had too much fun writing this. The murder was enough but there was something more you had to add, something else you had in mind.
Oh, what a mind.
Classic at the edge. I keep reading the story, perhaps the shock will wear off someday.
I think this guy/gal better make tracks
better make tracks
Hard to follow, but then I don’t much care for the blood and gore stuff. Sorry.
A slow to quick spiraling-in, dark tempo, chilling & cruel (Henry James’ “Turn of the Screw”) & heartless (Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood”). “Ninety-Nine” is murderous in image & sinister dialogue without conscience.
In contrast to “Sanguine’s Ride” there is no moral payback emotions by this mass murderer. This isn’t the fatal destiny of “Headlights” or the loss of love as in your tragic poem entitled, “Desinere”. As a prose/poet I remain an admirer of your talented passion & genius, Mr. Katz. As a motherly woman my mind worries, my heart breaks for you Judge.