A Filthy Drunk is a Bad Meal

“Hey baby you’d be prettier if you smiled,” I heard his leer and smelled the stale beer on his breath.  

Just ignore it I told myself.  Then he whistled.  I growled and spun, flashing my bloody grin at the man.  He was a putrid beast. His shirt was torn, his jeans 2 sizes too small and his thick mustache was dripping with beer.  

I expected fear, shock or at least surprise.  Instead, I got a got a grin. A stupid, shit-eating grin.  A punchable grin. “You one of those goth chicks? I think that’s soo hot,”  his voice oozed like slime. He swayed wildly and his eyes crossed. He was thoroughly unappetizing, and I was full.

He needs to die I decided.  Forcing the bile back down, I swayed over to him, sure my taut, curved frame would keep his attention.  I was right as he watched my perky chest wiggle toward him. Laying a hand on his chest, I pushed myself to my tiptoes and whispered in his ear “You want to have some fun you drunk bastard?”  He was too far gone care what I said, not that anyone could escape my deep, husky voice.

I took him by his slimy hand, grimacing at his touch.  I slid into my best sultry grin and shook my way to a nearby alley.  I shoved him hard against the wall and stepped back and fumbled a few buttons, playing the game a little more.  

Time for the fun. I slammed my clawed fingers at the man and glanced up to see the horror in his eyes.  Instead he was grinning, the cheap pornstar mustache dropped to the ground. He held a crucifix in one hand, which stopped mine.  In the other, he held a wooden stake.

“Sorry baby,” he said and slammed the spike through my chest.

Coughing, I fell back against the wall.  Hot fire burned through me from the stake in my chest to the tips of my fingers.  The pain of a thousand tiny blades lanced through me as I dissipated atom by atom.  My mind went last, bellowing a curse as the dust that was me blew away into the cold, moonless night.

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