Right now I can’t move without everything screaming. It’s quieter this morning than I recall it being last night. Where are the drunken carousers, the street musicians? Where is that asshole in the Armani knock-off jacket who kept feeding me Ouzo until I vomited licorice-smelling foulness all up the stairs to my room, where he tried to force himself on me and then…
I roll off his lifeless, bloody body, stare up at the lovely hotel, and listen to the oncoming sirens.
I’ve also linked back to a story that I quite enjoyed below:
- Untimely demise- Friday Fictioneers. (camgal.wordpress.com)