In front of the comedy club

In front of the comedy club

 

I have forgotten why I’m bleeding. A man in a black trench coat is staring and murmuring something suspicious into his cell phone. A woman with a red knitted hat and drastic yellow teeth is weeping into her fist. In her other hand, she holds a tiny metal square. I think it could be a weapon. The streetlights lap at my eyes like overfriendly dogs, dulling my perceptions. Prayers seem to die in my throat. I feel the universe contract as a wildfire burns in my lungs. Just before the dramatic fade to quiet, I hear someone say the word “suicide.” That can’t be right. I’ve been smeared and framed and . . .

Reviews

[OT]

ooo nice, I like the sense of desperation and yearning almost - felt like an addiction or fighting it - prayers choking you, the burn of the vice calling etc. - then can also go on the more psychosomatic point of view - a depression/paranoia perhaps - sinking into the dark whilst street lights conspire against you... another thinker!! haha

[Moonflower]

Ahhh this was so captivating of a read..I deffinitly didn't want it to stop. Your work is always enchanting, dear. ;) write on!

[freelancejouster]

i quite like this... i've never seen it told like this, POV suicidee... there's something touching, almost, in a grave sort of way... because "that can't be right", i couldn't've done that...

[schanzilla]

dig it, quite the interesting scene. nicely vivid, could see neon lights reflecting off puddles in the street. well done.