Whiskey

A Story by Oscar

Her skin was burning.
Every finger burnt me like a cigarette. Her long curly hair all over her and i. The noises that would leave her departed lips and mine harmonized like an orchestra. Excitement in the air as i grasped her thick thighs harder and harder every time she rode me, deeper and deeper. It was getting hot and disgusting, i felt like i couldn't have her on me anymore. I threw her forcefully where her face rested on my white winter bed sheets.
“best i've ever had..” she said
Her eyes wide open like in the dead of space.
“what's wrong?!” she nervously yelps as i pull a golden and white quartz carving knife from my drawer next to us. i let the silver glisten like gold in my hands as i gracefully taunt it between my right and left. on her face approached a concerned frown and she slowly moves away from me as if she didn't want me to notice. leaving the bed i walk over casually to the door past her to lock it. i turn back to meet her eyes with mine as her naked exposed frail body frantically moves to the corner of the room. at this point i'm quite annoyed by her whimpering sobs.
“do you like it?” i ask her quietly showing her reflection that reflects off the blade. the tremor that ran through her freckled face gave me the signal to show her the blade even closer as i dig deeper to find her rapid beating heart. I ask myself which screams do i enjoy the most from women…as she falls to her knees, her eyes rolled back like beautiful white pearls as i run the thin blade under her diamond choker. i remembered the peace that overflowed me like a fountain red wine blood as i ran my carving knife down her chest between her breast like a river cutting through the mountains and finally ending by twisting the blade so elegantly by her waist. face first like how she once liked it she rested. i retreat the buried knife from her pale body. running my handkerchief along the smooth bloody blade reveals my smiling bloody splattered face. i sit and pour myself a glass of whiskey, light up a bent cigarette in my dress pants. The cool air from my hotel room balcony blows the bloody strands of my hair off my face. looking at the glass of whiskey in my hand reminded me of her. reminded me of how bitter life could be like the whiskey leaving a flamed trail behind in my throat, but the sweet drunkenness that awaits past that bitterness reminds me too of moments like i just shared with her. looking at her body again i wondered what her name was. i stand up tired and flick the cigarette out the window and watch it fall hitting the wet concrete sidewalk.