Day 227 – Bad Day – Christmas Wish – Part Four – Short Story

I fall to my knees, as the tears run down my face, somethings are worth what they are, while other things, well, they’re just worthless.

He threw his first punch, and it connected with my stomach, winded the fuck out of me, I bent over, I couldn’t help it, leaving myself open for another punch, which he drove into the back of my head, I saw stars, hundreds of them, and fell to the floor in a heap.

He proceeded to parade around the room, in front of his men, talking himself up, like the big man he was, I forced myself to my knees, focusing on the blood that was running from my mouth and pooling on the floor. He saw me and attacked, swinging his boot swiftly towards me, I think, at this point, I was so far gone I was running on something else, something that seemed to still have some sort of life. I swiped my leg, the good one, out quickly and upended him, bringing him down to meet me, where I quickly locked in a vice grip, around his throat and pulled back for all I was worth, he struggled, and his men, who had now stopped screaming in cheer, feel silent, I fought through the pain, the agony, as he tore at me, trying to free himself, but, I didn’t let go.

Then, gun shots, I closed my eyes tightly, but they weren’t firing at me, in fact, none of them were firing, it seems Kildone had sent for reinforcements. I felt his neck crack underneath my grip, and he stopped fighting me, falling limp in my arms, as I laid there. I don’t know how long we were like that, but I held onto him tightly the entire time, just in case he wasn’t all the way gone.

That’s when he told me to let go, it was over, I’d done what I’d set out to do, it was time to go, before to cops arrived. I fell backwards, onto the floor, trying to catch my breath, I felt arms grab me, and pull me to my feet. Are you okay? Was constantly asked, but I couldn’t answer, I tried, I swear I did, but nothing came out, then I heard her, she cried, and I felt her grab me, tightly.

Go, before I change my mind, he said, I stood there, half expecting something else to be said, but he repeated himself, telling me to go, as I took a step forward, he spoke again. This time, he asked me to remember this, that one day, he’ll come ask me for one last favour, one last job, and when he did, he expected me to say yes, I nodded, I mean what else was I supposed to do, the fucker just save my life, well, I guess he did, or something like that, none of it mattered anyway.

As I made my way slowly past him, I turned as I was in the doorway, and our eyes met, I said Merry Christmas, and he smiled, that fat fuck, then laughed, like his belly was made of jelly.


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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