Monday, March 10, 2008


She dropped the locket into my hand, and he died again, right in front of me.

Fuck lockets; how cliché. What about a blue Bic lighter? Psychics are cliché as hell, too. Whatever.

She handed me his blue Bic lighter. He smoked Pall Malls.

Pall Malls? Seriously?

He smoked Camel Lights.

Forget the cigarettes. Start over.

She handed me his wallet. The leather had a greasy feel to it.

What's your point?

I don't believe in hell, but some days I wish I did. Sometimes there is no other suitable punishment.

Bad verb tense. There's no conviction there.

Some villains deserve it.

Not villains. Men? Murderers?

Some monsters require it. The victims, too. They deserve to know you're burning.

Burning, blistering, broiling...

But this is all they get. Men in suits picking through their pockets for clues.

So, so cliché. This is all you get.


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