Title: A short, pretentious and irrelevant 'noir' love story
by Hari | in writing, fiction
The man sat on his chair, the shotgun in his hands burning a whole in the door and a table making a stand between him and the entrance. The man held his finger loosely around the trigger. The lights were off. As he sat there the man thought about his hands, they weren't shaking, and his breath was steadier than he imagined it would be. He didn't look nervous, only he shivered in some moments.
A sound broke his transfixion with the door. He lowered his eyes towards the thin slice of light seeping into the room from the hotel hallway. A heavy tapping, slow, methodical steps, the lights outside went dark. The body on the other side wouldn't see him if the door opened. Lucky for them. The man tightened his grip and stopped shivering as the door crept open. The woman was silhouetted in the negative space of the door, it wasn't who the man was waiting for. The man eased his grip, willing the gun hidden in shadow ' he laid it to rest silently on the table. He liked to imagine the woman smiled at him although her expression was veiled by the lack of light. He liked to imagine that her lips were full, her skin the same shade as his eyes if not darker and her eyes glazed over with the knowledge of what people can do. Although in truth he couldn't see her.
She couldn't see him either, she had not spoken of the gun, she hadn't said anything although he imagined her voice quiet and broken. The man rose slowly from his seat and stepped forward cautiously so as not to alarm the woman. She stood her ground, sliding both hands into pockets, a nervous twitch. As the man approached he smelt smoke, not tobacco smoke, a pleasant wood burning smoke but with slightly metallic stabs. As he came closer to the door the metallic aspect grew stronger and became a stench, a salty taste filled the air and a pool of dark liquid was slowly spreading into view from the hotel hallway. The man did not stop. He drew close enough to see the woman's face. She was smiling, her skin was dark as or darker than his eyes but her eyes were not glazed over ' they were murderous ' one hand slid out from the woman's pockets. The man turned and ran, hungry for the gun, but he was dead before he reached the table.
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