51 Days Until The End – Bad Day – Little Guido, Part 4 – Short Story

Three hours, that’s how long we sat there, we talked, argued, hit each other a few more times, fucked, like you didn’t think that was not going to happen, and then we came up with a compromise.

She wanted someone to pay for the carnage, not just for herself, but for bragging rights, the street needed it, if she didn’t get vengeance, the family, she’d, seem weak. Now, I didn’t want it to be me, surprisingly, neither did she, so, we set our sights on the Bestwick’s, I mean, if it wasn’t for them, this would’ve been over and done with earlier. She was cosy with Flannigan, like I said earlier, she’d been sleeping with him for the last few years on and off, but, she had no real feelings for him, and decided it would be the best way to close a book on that chapter of her life, and set up shop with me as her right hand, I wasn’t sure how Killdone would feel about that, but, right now, I just didn’t want to die, so, I would’ve agreed to almost anything, well almost anything.

We called an old friend of mine, who patched us up as good as good as she could, then I took Matilda to my storage container and we armed ourselves up, fucked some more, argued again, then made our way to the wrong part of town, to hammer the nail in Flannigan Bestwick and his boys, to cement our new business arrangement.

Matilda got us through the door like we were ghosts, but once inside, I took over, or more like my weaponry did. We took out Sheamus and Rory, Flannigan’s younger brothers, up close and personal, Matilda slit Rory’s throat like a pro, while I drilled two shots into Sheamus’ skull with my peacemaker, fuck, I love that gun. We took down some grunts, before Flannigan made his appearance, he came at me, hit me hard, my shoulder clicked out of place for the second time tonight, it didn’t hurt as much as the first time, but it was still a bitch. He started strangling the life out of me, big ox that he was, and as the world started to get blurry, I saw Matilda, from the corner of my eye, standing there, watching, bitch was going to let this Irish fuck end me, that wasn’t the deal. I gasped for air, tried to say her name, but his grip just fucking tightened, then I felt it, the warmth of it splash across my face, it was thick, and his grip released as he landed on top of me, I sucked in the sweet, sweet air, and forced him off me.

Once I got to my feet, I told her what I thought, she said shit, acted all fucking high and mighty, but assured me, our deal was set in stone, and Flannigan’s blood was the binding of it all. Fucking bitch couldn’t be trusted, but, she had me stuck in a tight place, so I had little room to move, she never saw it coming, her goodnight kiss, she could’ve been the one, but shit, she’s not the first could’ve been I’ve met in this lifetime, won’t be the last, it’s just the end of another bad day.

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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