Day 210 – The Season – Where It Ends

She grips herself tightly, as a cold shiver runs down her back, and into her groin.

“Why’s it so damn cold,” she says, through clenched teeth, her breathe like a puff of smoke fades off into the night sky.

He laughs, “Because it’s winter, that’s what it does, it gets cold.”

“I know cold, but, it’s beyond that, it’s frozen cold, like freeze you on the spot, that’s what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” he says, as he leaps up and pulls his jacket off and wraps it around her.

“Please, Stev…”

He places a finger on her lips, “It’s the least I can do, besides, we wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for my dad.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault, you can wear his sins for him, I don’t blame you for what he did,” she says, smiling nervously.

“Thanks, you must be the only one,” he says, looking over at the group huddled around a fire.

“They’ll come around, once they know the real you, and not the you that have in their minds.”

“How am I’m supposed to show them that, they won’t even give me the chance.”

“Don’t wait for them, take it upon yourself, make they see you, not wait for them to, because by then, it could be too late.”

He smiles, “Yeah, your right,” he says getting to his feet, puffing out his chest proudly and marching over the the group, who go quite on his approach.

“Get away boy, less you want to feel the wrath of my fists against your face?” Maverick, the leader of the small group says, with a wry smile.

“I am not my father, I am not responsible for this world we now live in, and,” he says as he swiftly pulls a revolver from his jacket and fires a bullet, the rips into the centre of Maverick’s head, killing him instantly. “I will not be treated like a gutter trash, when you all should be bowing before me,” the small group shudder, and cry, then, he fires another shot into the air. “Bowing before me NOW!” He yells, and they quickly obey, he turns to look at her, and smiles.


Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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