Categories
creative writing men wisdom writing

Father

If you had to invent your version of father,  or yours let you down. If you’ve let your children down, then I’m with you.
We project that it’s easy but it isn’t. A lot of it is you give up the time with them. A necessary separation from people you’d die for,  to support them. You don’t say anything about it because whining about it doesn’t matter. Yet you look at them and find comfort in having something worth dying for.

For me, my mistakes were in being afraid of them not liking me for making decisions which conflicted with their immediate desires.

I tell them I love them. They know what I mean by that. I’ve tested it but I know it exists and I thrive on it.

No man will tell you how it hurts to miss a moment of their children. How it hurts not to. You’re eternal and disposable in the same moment.

The moments of rage and terror come from your children.

Categories
books fiction men seduction women

Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere Chapter 2 by Dahlia Bliss

Chapter 2.

You’ll know them on sight.

There is not the easy camaraderie of a group of friends, nor its cousin, the polite fight for female attention that I grew up experiencing.
No, it’s somewhere between a field trip and a hunting expedition.
With a tutor who takes each group and encourages the students to approach women and work on their conversation skills.
That’s the platonic ideal, it allows for men to develop socialising skills in a direct environment and it’s good to see the philosophies in action.
Ben and his friends came with me because I felt responsible for them. Terry took the four best looking guys, forming them into extensions of his will. They all appeared dressed by his hand, and he had them making approaches as soon as we were in there.
I’d already connected with Ben. His friends were Freddy and Jimmy. They worked together at the same start up; they were building a photo app and had come here to network and improve their socialisation skills.
Even money wasn’t helping them meet women.
Freddy had been engaged, she’d left him for the building supervisor, so he’d been dumped and made homeless in the same decision.
The supervisor had been an extra in a shampoo commercial.
Freddy had been two days from making three million dollars.
His eyes shone when he spoke about her. The anger that was there. It seemed like something he thought he should have felt, but I leaned over and touched his forearm.
‘You will be ok.’
He smiled and nodded.
‘I know I am. It’s funny, I never played sports or anything, but today, it feels like I’m the fucking quarterback, you know?’
I nodded as the waiter took our order.
After that the conversation lightened again, until I felt Terry’s hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him.
‘There’s no energy in here. I want to get these guys sarging.’
I shut my eyes. I smiled and flexed my shoulders.
‘Okay mate. These guys are with me. Yeah?’
I made a point of looking to Freddy, who flashed a nervous smile and pointed at me.
‘Excellent,’ Terry said.
Terry went off.  We went outside to pile into the minibus again.
I patted Ben on the shoulder, Freddy and Jimmy were behind us as I turned to them.
‘What did he tell you your frame for tonight was?’
Ben explained that we they meant us go with something goofy. An ice breaker that would then transition into a half kino, full audit body space. Hiding the cringe was easy.
My frown made Ben stop talking.
‘You need to forget all that.’
He looked at Freddy and Jimmy, then back at me. Jimmy cleared his throat before he spoke.
‘With the greatest of respect, you’re not the attendee here. I doubt you have any problems.’
I smiled at him and gave a quick gesture towards my face.
‘With this nose?.’
They looked shocked for a moment, then Ben burst out laughing.
‘It’s not that bad,’
I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head before squinting upwards.
‘It’s not so much a Roman nose as the whole fucking empire, mate.’
Freddy brayed and we all looked at him, then burst into a round of laughter. I let it die down before I stopped and turned. They mirrored me so we stood in a circle.
‘You need to detach yourselves.  It might generate attraction, if you’re going after something frivolous.’
Jimmy shook his head.
‘I just want to get laid.’
I grimaced at him and shook my head.
‘It’s how you communicate that.’
He stood back, crossing his arms, retreating behind a front of bluster.
‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’
His voice had a sullen quality to it you could almost taste in the air.
‘Nothing wrong with what?’
I knew the answer, but wanted to hear him say it.
‘Women want men to make a move,’ he said.
‘And what does the act of approaching entitle you?’
He held my gaze for a moment before he looked away and exchanged uncomfortable looks with the others.
‘Nothing.’
I thrust a finger out, pointing towards him.
‘Don’t be needy.’
Ben frowned.
‘Expect nothing from the interaction. Be present and talk to women with no expectation or sense of entitlement.’
Freddy sniggered and I asked him what was funny as we started walking again. He said I sounded like Yoda and I smiled.
‘The Frank Oz one, though. CGI appals me,’ I said. ‘Except for Gollum, the apes from that movie and Groot.’
Jimmy grabbed my elbow, stopping me and stared at me, aghast.
‘Transformers?’
I shook my head, although I couldn’t keep the smirk from my face at his reaction.
‘They keep remaking my childhood, and it breaks my heart.’
He rolled his eyes, gesticulating towards me.
‘Yes, it’s better now. We got angel investment from a guy who did some post on one of those. You do not understand how much work goes into them.’
I stepped back, folding my arms across my chest as I smiled at him.
‘That’s it, right there.’
Jimmy looked at me, unsure of the point that I was trying to make.
‘You’ve got a point of view. Something you’re passionate about.’
I put my hand on his shoulder, squeezed it as I looked deep into his eyes.
‘You cannot give the gift of yourself and expect it received.’
‘So, I could crash and burn?.’
‘You only fail if you quit.’
They climbed into the taxi and I followed, smiling to myself as we set off to another club.

 

Categories
beauty love men poetry women

Vicious Angels

We are atoms

In collision

Collusion

Through it all

I feel you

As I go about my purpose

Through pain and hunger

Late into the night

Even as disaster looms

Like vicious angels

I remain

Endure

And in this

You surrender

Gentle animal

Kind to everyone

Implicit strength

Leaner now

But still

Tuned into

The symphony of you

I hear it

Can pluck it from silence

No matter how hard

You may try

Tear down

Or build

When it comes to you

All the same

Isn’t it?

Now shut up and come here

I want you to feel me

With a force I’m not sure

Wouldn’t leave marks

Categories
anxiety beauty books men poetry

Hidden Victories

Those pockets of silence,

Travel between them

A pilgrim seeking holy places,

Hands capable of violence

Yet at rest against themselves

When not at play on the territory of you,

But you sleep, I grind,

No one knows what it takes to be this,

How each day,

Is a battle with toothsome

Loathsome devils,

Some of whom look like old lovers,

But in the silence

They die at my hand

And so, to see me calm,

Amused rather than angered,

Is to frame me in the light of

Hidden victories,

My book Until She Sings is out now.

Ebook:

Until She Sings https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07XJRDND8/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_e9pLDbMJNZQ4E

Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1692105566/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_4akEDb3FTWNKR

My Mailing List for announcements and news with a free short story as a thank you.

https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett

Categories
anxiety men mental illness short fiction short stories

Keygoyle – a drabble

(From Chuck Palahniuk, a prompt about a closed space. There are three here, in this story)

Kyle pulled out of the driveway, blinking away tears.

Kyle didn’t see it, paranoia like rabid dogs loose in his head.

They’ll wait before doing anything which might get them caught, he tells himself.

In his mind, he imagined them with terrible clarity. How she would respond to him, the unknown lover.

Each time he left for work, part remained inside, a gargoyle. Guarding.  Peering through the keyhole.

Red with feeling, like the light he missed.

The scream feels liberating as the car crumples like paper in God’s right hand.

Categories
lust men poetry sex women

Burn quiet

The slow turn of

Feeling older than dinosaur

This maniac wants to

Leap across the room

Pin you down and make you

Mine over and over

Sometimes it frightens me

But not enough to deny it

The fire which draws

Soon burns and the smell

Gets in your hair

But oh I simmer

Boil

Burn

Categories
beauty love men poetry women

Appointments To Weep(Men)

Our appointmentsMade in transitionFrom one place toAnotherSit with the fearShe’s losing interestAnd your novelty is somehowWearyingIt passesAnother arrivesGuilt and the soft prayersTo find the balance between cosmic justice and acknowledgementIf you could apologiseYou wouldYou didBut people seldom hearWhen they’re settingYour life ablaze,It passesAnother butLess as time goes onYou wish you couldUncoil before herAs you always haveIn glimpsesSo matters settledEyes dampA shuddering breathThen anotherIt too,Passes and you areYourself again.My book Until She Sings is out now.Ebook:Until She Sings https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07XJRDND8/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_e9pLDbMJNZQ4EPaperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1692105566/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_4akEDb3FTWNKRMy Mailing List for announcements and news with a free short story as a thank you.https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett

Categories
men

Open Letters To Old Friends

Scrape away the how are yous

I miss you

Because there are a million shitty takes

And awesome things

Which I still want to turn around and share with you,

And sometimes taunting that hunger

Sours the blood

Without being destroyed by it

Because I don’t want to embarrass you,

With my boyish earnestness,

Or my belief that although there are points of resolute crappiness

And genial idiocy,

I’m still close to wonderful,

Amused and appalled,

By this world

But hold this close,

Some part of me serves you

Us

And in time,

Of time

By time

I can still be stunned by your smile,

We were, and are surrounded by

Secrets

But never to one another,

Never.

My book Until She Sings is out now.

Ebook:

Until She Sings https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07XJRDND8/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_e9pLDbMJNZQ4E

Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1692105566/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_4akEDb3FTWNKR

My Mailing List for announcements and news with a free short story as a thank you.

https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett

Categories
books men short fiction women

The Bullet Found You.

He ran in his dreams.

There was the recollection of his uncoiled youth. Slim and taut with muscle, even at twelve. It taints his memories of his youth with crude washes of horror and regret.

These dreams woke him, trembling and confused. It was a long time ago, and yet these dreams returned like a recurring complaint. He was a man who could have someone killed with a phone call, but in his dreams, he ran from the train with the snap of bullets passing by him.

He got up, poured himself a good measure of single malt, lit a cigarette and walked to the living room.

Benny stood up when he walked in, his mouth twisted into a knot of concern but Ernest waved him off. Despite wearing nothing but a robe, Benny responded to him like he were in an expensive suit, but Ernest sat down and looked at his employee with something close to need.

‘Do you ever have bad dreams, Benny?’ he said.

His voice was a thin, reedy whisper but Benny furrowed his brow and considered the question with great importance. He shook his head and emitted a small squeak of a no.

Ernest chuckled and took a sip of the whisky. He sat back and drew on the cigarette.

‘Is everything ok, Mr Wolfowitz?’

Ernest let his head tilt backwards as he blew out a plume of smoke.

‘I guess. You can sit down, Benny. I’m worried you can see my junk from there.’

Benny sat down fast enough to make the cushions jump and Ernest sat up to look across at him. He ran his tongue across his lips, left to right, before he let it settle in the right corner of his mouth. His eyelids were low as he took another pull on the cigarette before settling into the couch.

‘Thanks for not saying either way. I make you nervous, huh?’ he said.

Benny nodded and flicked a nervous smile. His moustache was sweating as he looked at his boss.

‘Just this is the first time I’ve sat across from you. You said, if I see you, it means something’s gone wrong.’ he said.

Ernest recalled saying it, and a small burst of regret singed his insides.

‘I meant, I need no interruptions, Benny. I’m not an asshole to you guys.’ he said.

Ernest set the tumbler down on the floor by his feet as he adjusted his robe.

“Relax. We’re just talking,” he said.

Benny had never served, but he nodded in agreement again and say thank you. His reaction pleased Ernest, who picked up the tumbler again and took another appreciative sip. Its warm burn relaxed him as he blinked and chased it down with a puff on the cigarette.

‘I have this dream, Benny. The same dream, over and over.’

2.

You know the worst thing?

How ordinary those men were. You think of them as monsters but it is too easy, gives you an out if you ever wonder about your own capacity for evil, Benny, I tell you. A unit of volunteers, police in their own country, but they volunteered to come and do their duty.

They came to the village at night. Pulled from our houses like vermin, gathered together in the square as they watched us, made sure we didn’t run away. My father had died last year, so I was the only man left in my family.

There was nothing I could do. Nothing at all. Twelve years old, and looking at those men, barbers and engineers at home but here. Gathering us up to take a train.

. They kept the men together, and packed us in so tight, Such a thing, I couldn’t breathe, but I was thin and so I moved to the sides, pressed to find any cool, clean air to breathe in. Each breath stunk of other people, all of us, soiled and doomed.

Such a thing to smell, Benny, I tell you.

Escape? No, such a thing was a dream and I was very much awake.

But I didn’t stop looking. They were not smart men, who put us in these carriages. Some of them smelled of too much beer and looked at us like they expected us to tell them what to do. One of them was slack on securing the door. I watched him do it.

But I remembered, Benny, and when we got to the train yards, it would pass the woods outside my village.

The woods were my favourite place to play, I knew them well.

My hands shook as the train slowed down, ready to take on more passengers. My heart was in my throat but I made myself push the door open. The night air fell on me like a cool wave, and I cried out with a savage joy. There was a rough hand at my back then I was tumbling forwards, landing in the dirt hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

I got to my feet, heard the shouts go up and then the guns firing at me.

Have you ever ran like your life depended on it?

It is not an easy thing to do. Part of you wants the defeat, like a wound which can never heal and it gives you a reason to be clumsy, Benny, but fight it when it comes.

They were not good shots. It was not a matter of pride for them, to be competent soldiers. It was to my fortune they missed me.

Others behind me, were not so lucky, but they died free.

Still, they died.

The worst thing is, I don’t dream about my mother or my sisters. My father had been dead for three years by then. None of those things bother me, Benny, but do you know what does?

In my dreams, Benny, I dream about them shooting me. Or worse, catching me and putting me onto the train again. What sort of man thinks about those things?

What sort of man dreams about the bullet which never found you?

3.

Benny fought back tears as he coughed into his hand before he looked up at his boss.

‘We all have times when we think about how things could have gone down, Mr Wolfowitz.’ he said.

Ernest tilted his head to one side, curious despite his exhaustion.

‘But I didn’t get shot, Benny. I made it, and then from there to all of this.’ he said.

There was no need for a gesture, Benny knew. If you worked for Mr Wolf, you knew what he did to keep what was his and added to it with the same fervour. If James Brown was the hardest working man in show business, then Ernest Wolfowitz was the hardest working man in crime. One of the wealthiest too, and he had moved a lot of dirty cash in clean, legitimate vehicles but if you bought a dime bag, Mr Wolf made money from it.

‘I know, but we still think about it. If it makes you feel fortunate, then it’s God talking to you.’

Ernest frowned and picked up his glass.

‘He does not talk Benny. Not since he packed my family into the trains.’

Benny sat back, remembering how his girlfriend had told him to stay off religion or politics in polite conversation with anyone you didn’t want to piss off. He folded his hands and put them into his lap.

‘Sometimes he doesn’t say nice things, but he tells you the truth.’ he said.

Ernest watched him before he drained the rest of the glass and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. He got up, adjusted himself inside his robe and walked away without speaking. Benny stood up as he left, but Ernest did not acknowledge the gesture. Benny waited until he heard the click of the bedroom door before he sat down.

He wondered how much trouble he was in until dawn when the next guy came in to take over and he drove back to his apartment. When the phone rang, he heard Yanni, one of Mr Wolf’s lieutenants, tell him a car was outside.

Benny ran to the bathroom and vomited before rinsing his mouth out with water and throwing on a jacket as he ran downstairs.

Someone set a chess board up in the study. Mr Wolf sat with a crystal decanter of scotch and a welcoming smile which unnerved Benny as he looked at the empty chair opposite him.

‘Sit down, Benny.’ he said.

Benny sat down and looked at Mr Wolf.

‘Am I in trouble, sir?’ he said.

Ernest shook his head.

‘If you were, you’d know.’ he said.

This, Benny knew, was Mr Wolf. The old man last night, he wasn’t someone to mess with, but this man before him, although he wore the same face, held himself apart from everyone and everything.

Mr Wolf poured Benny a drink and handed it to him.

‘No, Benny, I thought it useful to talk about God with someone I trust not to tell anyone.’ he said.

Benny went to say like a confession but remembered his girlfriend’s advice and bit down on his tongue. The scotch stung him, but he kept his impulse under control.

‘Mr Wolf.’ he said.

Ernest shook his head.

‘No, Benny, call me Ernest.’ he said.

It was the start of a great friendship. They held one another’s confidence for five years before a stroke took out Mr Wolf and left him bedridden. Benny took half a million from the Garcia Cartel to hold a pillow to his friend’s face, but as he felt him relax. Benny was glad at the end, it was down to him. Tears ran down his face as he leaned over and whispered into Ernest’s ear.

‘The bullet found you.’ he said.

Benny recognised himself in the ordinary men who shoved Ernest’s family into the streets, and it had killed his own faith. As Ernest died, part of Benny died with him. The rest of it followed a week later when the Garcia Cartel decided Benny was too expensive to keep around.

It was on a train out of the city, Benny had sat in first class, which made him easy to find. When the three men, not much more than boys, closed the doors behind them, Benny smiled. They were competent, and they promised to be quick.

His bullet had found him, too.

He looked forward to telling Ernest about it.

 

 

My book Until She Sings is out now.

Ebook:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07XJRDND8If

Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1692105566/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_4akEDb3FTWNKR

My Mailing List for announcements and news with a free short story as a thank you.

https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett

Categories
books men short fiction women

The Bullet Found You

He ran in his dreams.

There was the recollection of his uncoiled youth. Slim and taut with muscle, even at twelve. It taints his memories of his youth with crude washes of horror and regret.

These dreams woke him, trembling and confused. It was a long time ago, and yet these dreams returned like a recurring complaint. He was a man who could have someone killed with a phone call, but in his dreams, he ran from the train with the snap of bullets passing by him.

He got up, poured himself a good measure of single malt, lit a cigarette and walked to the living room.

Benny stood up when he walked in, his mouth twisted into a knot of concern but Ernest waved him off. Despite wearing nothing but a robe, Benny responded to him like he were in an expensive suit, but Ernest sat down and looked at his employee with something close to need.

‘Do you ever have bad dreams, Benny?’ he said.

His voice was a thin, reedy whisper but Benny furrowed his brow and considered the question with great importance. He shook his head and emitted a small squeak of a no.

Ernest chuckled and took a sip of the whisky. He sat back and drew on the cigarette.

‘Is everything ok, Mr Wolfowitz?’

Ernest let his head tilt backwards as he blew out a plume of smoke.

‘I guess. You can sit down, Benny. I’m worried you can see my junk from there.’

Benny sat down fast enough to make the cushions jump and Ernest sat up to look across at him. He ran his tongue across his lips, left to right, before he let it settle in the right corner of his mouth. His eyelids were low as he took another pull on the cigarette before settling into the couch.

‘Thanks for not saying either way. I make you nervous, huh?’ he said.

Benny nodded and flicked a nervous smile. His moustache was sweating as he looked at his boss.

‘Just this is the first time I’ve sat across from you. You said, if I see you, it means something’s gone wrong.’ he said.

Ernest recalled saying it, and a small burst of regret singed his insides.

‘I meant, I need no interruptions, Benny. I’m not an asshole to you guys.’ he said.

Ernest set the tumbler down on the floor by his feet as he adjusted his robe.

“Relax. We’re just talking,” he said.

Benny had never served, but he nodded in agreement again and say thank you. His reaction pleased Ernest, who picked up the tumbler again and took another appreciative sip. Its warm burn relaxed him as he blinked and chased it down with a puff on the cigarette.

‘I have this dream, Benny. The same dream, over and over.’

2.

You know the worst thing?

How ordinary those men were. You think of them as monsters but it is too easy, gives you an out if you ever wonder about your own capacity for evil, Benny, I tell you. A unit of volunteers, police in their own country, but they volunteered to come and do their duty.

They came to the village at night. Pulled from our houses like vermin, gathered together in the square as they watched us, made sure we didn’t run away. My father had died last year, so I was the only man left in my family.

There was nothing I could do. Nothing at all. Twelve years old, and looking at those men, barbers and engineers at home but here. Gathering us up to take a train.

. They kept the men together, and packed us in so tight, Such a thing, I couldn’t breathe, but I was thin and so I moved to the sides, pressed to find any cool, clean air to breathe in. Each breath stunk of other people, all of us, soiled and doomed.

Such a thing to smell, Benny, I tell you.

Escape? No, such a thing was a dream and I was very much awake.

But I didn’t stop looking. They were not smart men, who put us in these carriages. Some of them smelled of too much beer and looked at us like they expected us to tell them what to do. One of them was slack on securing the door. I watched him do it.

But I remembered, Benny, and when we got to the train yards, it would pass the woods outside my village.

The woods were my favourite place to play, I knew them well.

My hands shook as the train slowed down, ready to take on more passengers. My heart was in my throat but I made myself push the door open. The night air fell on me like a cool wave, and I cried out with a savage joy. There was a rough hand at my back then I was tumbling forwards, landing in the dirt hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

I got to my feet, heard the shouts go up and then the guns firing at me.

Have you ever ran like your life depended on it?

It is not an easy thing to do. Part of you wants the defeat, like a wound which can never heal and it gives you a reason to be clumsy, Benny, but fight it when it comes.

They were not good shots. It was not a matter of pride for them, to be competent soldiers. It was to my fortune they missed me.

Others behind me, were not so lucky, but they died free.

Still, they died.

The worst thing is, I don’t dream about my mother or my sisters. My father had been dead for three years by then. None of those things bother me, Benny, but do you know what does?

In my dreams, Benny, I dream about them shooting me. Or worse, catching me and putting me onto the train again. What sort of man thinks about those things?

What sort of man dreams about the bullet which never found you?

3.

Benny fought back tears as he coughed into his hand before he looked up at his boss.

‘We all have times when we think about how things could have gone down, Mr Wolfowitz.’ he said.

Ernest tilted his head to one side, curious despite his exhaustion.

‘But I didn’t get shot, Benny. I made it, and then from there to all of this.’ he said.

There was no need for a gesture, Benny knew. If you worked for Mr Wolf, you knew what he did to keep what was his and added to it with the same fervour. If James Brown was the hardest working man in show business, then Ernest Wolfowitz was the hardest working man in crime. One of the wealthiest too, and he had moved a lot of dirty cash in clean, legitimate vehicles but if you bought a dime bag, Mr Wolf made money from it.

‘I know, but we still think about it. If it makes you feel fortunate, then it’s God talking to you.’

Ernest frowned and picked up his glass.

‘He does not talk Benny. Not since he packed my family into the trains.’

Benny sat back, remembering how his girlfriend had told him to stay off religion or politics in polite conversation with anyone you didn’t want to piss off. He folded his hands and put them into his lap.

‘Sometimes he doesn’t say nice things, but he tells you the truth.’ he said.

Ernest watched him before he drained the rest of the glass and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. He got up, adjusted himself inside his robe and walked away without speaking. Benny stood up as he left, but Ernest did not acknowledge the gesture. Benny waited until he heard the click of the bedroom door before he sat down.

He wondered how much trouble he was in until dawn when the next guy came in to take over and he drove back to his apartment. When the phone rang, he heard Yanni, one of Mr Wolf’s lieutenants, tell him a car was outside.

Benny ran to the bathroom and vomited before rinsing his mouth out with water and throwing on a jacket as he ran downstairs.

Someone set a chess board up in the study. Mr Wolf sat with a crystal decanter of scotch and a welcoming smile which unnerved Benny as he looked at the empty chair opposite him.

‘Sit down, Benny.’ he said.

Benny sat down and looked at Mr Wolf.

‘Am I in trouble, sir?’ he said.

Ernest shook his head.

‘If you were, you’d know.’ he said.

This, Benny knew, was Mr Wolf. The old man last night, he wasn’t someone to mess with, but this man before him, although he wore the same face, held himself apart from everyone and everything.

Mr Wolf poured Benny a drink and handed it to him.

‘No, Benny, I thought it useful to talk about God with someone I trust not to tell anyone.’ he said.

Benny went to say like a confession but remembered his girlfriend’s advice and bit down on his tongue. The scotch stung him, but he kept his impulse under control.

‘Mr Wolf.’ he said.

Ernest shook his head.

‘No, Benny, call me Ernest.’ he said.

It was the start of a great friendship. They held one another’s confidence for five years before a stroke took out Mr Wolf and left him bedridden. Benny took half a million from the Garcia Cartel to hold a pillow to his friend’s face, but as he felt him relax. Benny was glad at the end, it was down to him. Tears ran down his face as he leaned over and whispered into Ernest’s ear.

‘The bullet found you.’ he said.

Benny recognised himself in the ordinary men who shoved Ernest’s family into the streets, and it had killed his own faith. As Ernest died, part of Benny died with him. The rest of it followed a week later when the Garcia Cartel decided Benny was too expensive to keep around.

It was on a train out of the city, Benny had sat in first class, which made him easy to find. When the three men, not much more than boys, closed the doors behind them, Benny smiled. They were competent, and they promised to be quick.

His bullet had found him, too.

He looked forward to telling Ernest about it.

 

 

 

My book Until She Sings is out now.

Ebook:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07XJRDND8If

Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1692105566/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_4akEDb3FTWNKR

My Mailing List for announcements and news with a free short story as a thank you.

https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett