Drop Dead Gorgeous
The night is dark, the damp streets illuminated only by the dim yellow of the scattered streetlights. Her black boots click on the pavement, the only noise echoing through the darkness. Her black hair flows behind her as she quickens her pace. Her black soul hisses through her teeth, an angry sigh.
She wordlessly passes shadowed alleyways, narrow spaces between the disheveled brick buildings lining the lonely street. Malicious and calculating eyes peer out at her, marking the tempo of her footfalls, evaluating her as a target. Fearless, she strides past their hiding places, aware of their presence yet unconcerned. They will do her no harm.
A lonely door appears in the wall of a dirty building, lit by a single light. She has reached her destination. Now she must wait.
The silence rings deafeningly in her ears. She has heard nothing since her footsteps ceased. The cold night wind ruffles her black trench coat. Her arms reflexively tighten around her. Through her coat, her gloved hands feel it: the handle of the knife she has carefully hidden at her side.
Time passes, but she does not know how much. She pulls a lone cigarette from the pocket of her coat. Fumbling for her lighter, she realizes she does not have it. She must have dropped it somewhere.
The door opens. Her heart begins to pound. The woman emerges, slim and lovely. Gorgeous, really, she admits to herself. Smiling back into the dim room behind the door, the woman says,
“Goodnight, Paul. Same time tomorrow?” she giggles.
Paul answers, though she does not hear him. The woman does not see her yet.
“I love you,” the woman tells Paul. The heavy metal door swings shut, and silence rules the street once more.
The woman sighs, smiling, self-satisfied. The woman turns to walk down the street, still failing to notice her.
“Excuse me,” she says, “do you have a light?” She holds out her cigarette. The dim yellow of the streetlights reflects off the diamond on her hand. Her face is shrouded in shadow.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” the woman replies. The woman was not expecting to see another person on the street at that hour.
The woman approaches her, fumbling for a lighter. She holds the cigarette in her mouth, allows the woman to light it. Her other arm warms itself beneath the folds of her coat.
In a flash, it is over. The woman is lying on the street, blood beginning to pool. The woman never saw it coming, never felt the pain, never knew what was happening.
She stands for a moment over the corpse, a lit cigarette in one hand. In the other hand, the knife flashes in the glow of the streetlights. A single droplet of blood falls from the knife, lands on the woman’s face, runs down the cheek like an unholy tear.
“Drop dead, Hadley,” she spits to the corpse.
She steps over Hadley’s body, replacing the knife under her coat. She takes another drag on her cigarette, lets it fall in a puddle near the door. Taking her key from her pocket, she opens the heavy metal door.
Paul will be waiting for her.
She is ready for Paul.
“Home so soon, baby?” Paul calls down the stairway to her.
She is silent.
“Everything alright?” Paul asks.
No. But she says nothing.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Paul backs into the apartment as she crosses the landing to where he is.
Still silence from her lips. She shuts the door behind her as she enters their home. Paul smiles uneasily.
“Kiss me, you gorgeous man,” she finally says, smiling seductively. She wraps her arms around herself, reaching under the coat.
She steps into his arms. Paul embraces her after breathing a sigh of relief. She had scared him for a moment.
Their lips meet for the last time.
Paul never saw it coming, never knew what happened. Knife found neck, and now she looks down on Paul’s lifeless corpse, poison in her eyes.
She drops the blade. She removes her bloody coat and gloves.
She goes to the refrigerator, grabs a beer, and sinks into the couch to watch television.
http://writing.progressiveu.org/node/phrase-13
