Fiction

Guns and Other Things

By: David Jacobs

Dennis stopped to scrape the gum off the sole of his shoe,”Damn! I hate this”. A faint sound, a muffled cry coming from the abandoned building in front of him.
     Dennis racked his gun and slipped through the open doorway. The smell of decay, urine, feces forced its way into his nostrils. Dennis inched his way to the back-room. Five guys with their cocks ready had a woman’s legs spread, he ripped her undergarment off when Dennis fired. Scream-blood-spin-crouch-twist, eyes flash to the window. One guy jumped out the other three froze hands in the air. He reached the back fence two shots stopped his climb. Dennis spun from the window, he felt a warm breeze, the smell of gun powder, pizza, the three guys had vanished.
     She lay there motionless, he rolled the dead guy off her, pulled her garment down to hide her nakedness. With a slight wave of his hand he reached down she grabbed his hand and stood… Jesus! she was young, wearing a black niqab head to toe. Eye to eye they stood there, she touched his cheek a gentle warm caress.
     Outside on the stoop they waited for the police. Funny he didn’t even know her name.  All hell broke loose, a nightmare of accusations, lies, cover-ups. Dennis was the bad guy the head-lines screamed.
     The smell of lividity, sower-light,  sound of bells, steel bars, pealing gray paint, footsteps echoed closer. The Guard unlocked the metal lock, patted my shoulder and ushered me out the rear exit.
     Weeks later standing in my kitchen cooking a turkey burger was a knock on my door “Hell’s that!” a yard full of protesters? I yanked the door open, she rushed in hugging me around the waist, her father mother sister brother followed. Christ! — I’ll never get to eat my burger.
     Layla sister Dalila spoke for the family. We will not be silenced Dennis, you saved Layla years of torment and degradation we are most humble and grateful.
(Layla brought me my burger sliced in half with chips sprinkled on the side.)
Our friends wants us to silence this incident but we will not! Father spoke at the Mosque this morning shaming the ones who were covering it up.
     Aabdar brought in baskets of food, they took off their outer garments, I didn’t realize the significance till later. We ate we laughed we sang we danced could it get any better…yes? …
     Dalila looked my way, her eyes spoke of a husband who blew himself up for a cause she didn’t believe in, a sweet beautiful young husband brainwashed, duped by evil rhetoric. Her suffering crippled her, she was scarred for life. The pain of it — damn-it-Allah??? …
     Wait! What? — In that glance-moment — her pain stopped — ♫baby-baby-baby you set me free Oooh a♫ — Dopamine exploded, honey dripped off fingers, pink milk dolphins chased schooners, ♫ your tasty like a asian pear Oooh a ♫ — Her whole being shimmered in Dennis’s brain — ♫ your tasty like a nectarine  Oooh a  ♫ — They stood absorbing the tsunami wave that broke over them — ♫ tasty like a nectarine Oooh a ♫ — ♫ Your beautiful and I like it — tasty like a nectarine Oooh a ♫ —

Fin♫

Categories: Fiction

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