If what he suspected were true, his respect for her was about to be run over like any dumb varmint on a freeway.
He hated her youth for what it kept hidden from her. There are so many ways to be young, he thought, so many parcels of naïveté. But she's not as young anymore, is she? She should know better. She's been burned. How can she possibly not see where she's headed? He watched her move past him. She hadn't noticed him. Even though it might betray his tailing her here, he wished she might catch a glimpse and stop, maybe give him that squeeze of eyebrows and skin she made when curiosity found her. What would he say? She'd ask him what brought him so far to this side of the city. He would want to ask her the same question but he wouldn't. He would lie to her. And that sudden revelation landed firmly on his head with the weight of an anvil and he had to brace himself against the table, the ice rattling in his drink. Lie to her? he thought. And what is your respect worth now?
River of Blood, a novel about anarchism, atheism, racism, violence, family, and corruption.
Chrysalis, a growing collection of very short fiction.
Unless noted, all pics credited to Skitz O'Fuel.