Lisa: My Romance
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I sit in front of my brand new computer, flex my hand, and poise my fingers over the keyboard.
It does not take me long to realize that I've a writer's block. Can't disappoint Mr. Tristan Tribe can I? After all, Tristan was an editor and kind enough to ask me to send in a contribution to his competition.
Must write this noir story or go bust. Best look over the rules. Now where did I save them? Ah, there they are. Felony, Fiery, Flagrant, Femme fatale. Interesting bit that. Let's think. What words would describe such a woman? Luscious? Lavish? Lustful? Luxurious? Say, what's this? An exercise in alliteration? Best start typing something.
The telephone rang. Slick Sammy, cigarette hanging from his lower lip, answered: "Yes?"
"Slick, Lisa here. Remember me, luscious?" The voice was low and mellow. Slick felt pins and needles piercing his skin. How could he ever forget Lisa!
"What's up, hon?" Slick tried to play it cool, but in his mind he could easily picture her lying on a sofa, her full lips slightly parted, her ravishing body supine and inviting. Her hair was dark and her face pale. When she smiled at you the moon waned and you felt you had to do something to address the situation. Lisa was fun. When she kissed you, you'd feel you're the only man in the world. She had that kind o' effect on Slick.
"Slick, you gotta kill ‘HIM’. He kidnapped my brother. He'll kill him if I don't give in."
Fate has a habit of putting Slick in a corner. Slick hated Lisa's brother. Jack was a cut-throat and a bully. Some say he loved beating women… and men for that matter. Best thing for this world was to hang and quarter him, preferably at the same time. As for "HIM"! Alas "HIM" was even worse. "HIM" was a son-of-a-, perverse and deadly. Killing "HIM" won't be easy though. Slimy "HIM"! Sammy Slick spat his cigarette slickly into a corner of the room and licked his lips.
Corny. What am I writing? This would never win me a contest. Even the name is wrong. Slick Sammy or Sammy Slick. Perhaps Sammy the Slick. This writer's block must be hitting me at fever pitch.
"Slick, you need a gun? Got a magnum for you."
Magnum? That's an ice-cream as far as I know. Prefer wine! Maybe a glass of cold Chablis would bring me some good ideas. So far everything has been lousy. I smell the Chablis, allowing its bouquet to fill my nostrils and anticipate the luxurious taste to follow. Here's to Mr. Tribe. Bet he has never tasted anything so … so….! Words fail me. I must be real bad if I can't describe the taste of Chablis. Ah those French! They know a thing or two about wines…and women. The hall clock strikes eleven. Blast. This story must be posted quickly, before midnight.
"Got a slick gun-slicker for you, Slick."
This is getting worse. Too many slicks. I sip more wine. Beautiful. A little more won't hurt. What am I thinking? Slick for wine! Must be getting fuzzy or something.
"Will you help me Slick?" Lisa put all her sex appeal in her voice. Sammy preferred the sex rather than the appeal.
"Sure babe. For you I'd go to hell and come back with a devil in a sack." An' Slick could tell a few guys, she won't find a better specimen of manhood better than Slick. "Where's "HIM" now?' Slick Sammy looked outta the window. It was dark and drizzlin'. This was going to be a hell of a night. Maybe he could get away with it. Brushin' Lisa's lips would be fun.
"Lured "HIM" to Chinese Indigo Dragon Motel, Slick. Better come over quick afore he starts his rough ways. I need you badly, honey."
This story is not shaping so well, is it? To use a word like afore is a sure sign of mental fatigue. Should I start all over? This story must be posted afore midnight. What a world! It's Tribe's fault really. Putting a deadline like that. I sip more wine.
Must find some sort of a gun. Now where can I find a list of guns? I'm sure I heard of a magnum gun before. But don't ask me its calibre. Maybe I can use a knife. No, no, too messy. Must be a gun.
Suddenly, Lisa my wife comes in, wearing next to nothing.
"What are you doing, honey? You got a hard day, tomorrow. Come with me, sweetheart." Her voice is husky and low.
I look at her and wonder. Femme fatale! Was I looking at one? Well she's seductive, glamorous, bewitching, alluring. Heck, am I a thesaurus or what?
I switch the computer off and follow her to bed.
Sorry Mr. Tristan Tribe. Must disappoint you. There are things more important than writing in life, aren't there?
8 October 2018
Fiction - October 2018 Writing Challenge - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
All characters are fictional.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2018