Day 232 – Palm Her – Short Story

“You’re lying!” He says through clenched teeth, a spray of saliva shoots out with each word.

“Why Devon? What benefit would I get from lying? Evey word I have said, is the truth.”

“B-B-But why?”

“Because, you needed to know what was really going on, you need to know who the true killer was, instead of thinking what she wanted you to believe,” he says, the smile on his face growing wider, as Devon stares tragically towards the floor.

“B-B-But, if that’s true, then, she, she was the, she was…”

“She was the one who killed Harry?” He says, smugly. “It’s true, she did, gutted him like a lamb to the slaughter, and then, pinned it on me, because, well, I deserved it, and normally I would take it, another notch on my belt is nothing now, not with those who had fallen before me. But Harry, he was not worthy of my blade or my belt, she saw an opportunity and took it, to remove a problem for her life and to save you the horror of knowing what they were up to behind your back. It’s poetic really, but, near sighted, she never realised you wanted me alive, not on a slab, where I would be forever silent.”

“Why are you telling me all this? What do you hope to accomplish? You’ll still go to the chair,” he says, giving him a spiteful look of anger, mixed with curiosity.

“I don’t care for the chair, IO earned my place in hell, as did your wife, do what you feel you have to do, send me where I am ready to go, but, deal with her, for your code calls it to be done, do it or I will lay her sins bare for the world to see.”

Devon looks to the ground again, his eyes darting around in his head, then, grips the handle on his revolver tightly and pulls it from its holster, and raises it towards him nervously, sweat runs down his brow, stinging his eyes.

“Really Devon? How will you explain this? Killing an unarmed man, it’s not in you, you don’t have it, even for her,” he smiles broadly, and begins to laugh, then he hears the click, as the hammer snaps into place, igniting the chamber, and his smile softens, his eyes grow wide, as he reliases, maybe, his plan was not going to go his way.



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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