130 of 226

Write now Article Tools

Page 2 of 4

Looking around, she saw a big green dumpster wedged in the alley between a streetside Chinese noodle place and a blue-neon lit bar. "Well, little guy," she said to the tiny body, "it's not much of a burial, but it's the best I can do at short notice." She carried the dog over to the dumpster, thankful the sliding door on the side was open. There was a whumping crinkle of paper-filled plastic bags as she dropped the dog in through the door. She stepped quickly away from the dumpster, anxious to separate herself from the smell of rot and death, and started to brush her hands together.

There was blood on her hands, mixed with a few strands of red-gold hair.

Looking at the sidewalk, she could see two stains on the cement. The milky-brown color of a latte and the smaller pool of dark red of blood were being tracked away on pedestrian shoes.
Grace looked again at her hands. There wasn't much blood, but there was no way she was walking home with the sticky feeling of it drying on her hands. She looked at the businesses on either side of the alley. The Chinese noodle shop had a hand-lettered sign in the window that read "Bathroom for paying customers only" and another that said "Closed for private party." What the hell, she needed a drink anyway. Grace shouldered open the door to the bar, absently noting the blue neon in the window spelled out Flashpoint. Well, didn't that sound promising?

She made a beeline to the bathrooms in the back, moving quickly to discourage anyone from approaching her. The narrow room was dim, paneled in some dark wood. The bar itself was on her left, giving off the glow of more blue neon that reflected from the mirror behind it. On her right were a series of vinyl-upholstered booths, tears in the dark plastic showing shocking splashes of the yellow foam underneath. The place reeked of old smoke and alcohol.

The fluorescent lights in the bathroom were a harsh contrast to the soft, warm lighting of the bar. The room was covered in dirty white tiles with mildewed grout lines. The ceiling was water-painted in brown splotches. The mirror was losing its silvering, so her reflection was distorted and grayed out in patches. She used the back of her wrist to turn on the tap and quickly began washing the dog's death off her hands. The soap dispenser tacked to the wall was empty, with just a crust of dried pink around the nozzle to show it had ever held soap at all. Her thumbs rubbed at the blood that stubbornly clung to the lines on her palm. A state fair

• << previous page
• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Novel excerpts: Romance?
We want to hear your view. Write now!