The following story contains strong language. Reader discretion is advised.
I bought a knife yesterday.
Callie, my neighbor next door, came home late again. 2:18 in the morning. I know because her crying woke me up and I checked the clock before falling back to sleep.
Callie’s a whore.
Her pimp wakes us up four hours later.
“Get your ass up, bitch,” we hear him scream through the thin cement wall.
Callie doesn’t answer, but I hear her moving around in her apartment. Not a wise move. “Samson don’t like to be kept waitin.”
Fucking Samson. Wears Armani, drives an Escalade. Christ, his fucking shoes cost more’n I make a year. Dick-head. He pounds the door again, harder this time. The whole building can hear him, but we bury our collective heads under our pillows and hum. He’ll be gone soon and we can forget about Callie till tomorrow morning when Samson comes back. Except I can’t bury my head under my pillow.
There’s a knife there.
“How you hook up with that guy?” I asked her once when we both happened to be in the basement laundry.
She answered by pulling her stripper outfits from the dryer and running upstairs.
He’s beatin on the door non stop today. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM
He slaps her hard. I hear her moan and say she’s sorry. Can she have the morning off? She’s tired. I hear her yelp. Probably has her by her hair again. My head hurts. Could be lack of sleep. Could be because I’m pressing my head against the knife. I didn’t realize I had moved it out from under the pillow and put it on top.
“Why don’t you leave that guy?” I asked her once when we happened to both be down by the mailboxes. Her’s was empty. She smelt like sweat. Jasmine and sweat. I bet she was pretty once. She turned to leave and wouldn’t look at me.
“I can help you.” I said.
She paused for a moment before continuing up the stairs.
“You can’t,” she said with her back to me and her head lowered. “I can’t.”
She’s home again but not alone. Her screams wake me, that and the rhythmic pounding of her bed hitting the wall. It’s over in less then two minutes. It’s 1:49am.
My eyes snap open to the sound of Dick-head beating on Callie’s door. “Wake the hell up bitch.” He keeps pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding and pounding.
Just once I wish he’d knock on my door instead. My hand hurts. I’m holding the knife white-knuckled.
“Leave her alone asshole! People are trying to sleep!” The pounding on Callie’s door stops.
He’s beatin on my door now.
What are you gonna do about it Mr. Tough Guy.
Author’s note: This story was written from a prompt provided by one of my favorite sites, WriteAnything. I hope you enjoyed this story. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think of it.
Eeeek. Thrilling. Hope that knife is sufficient. O.O
The narrator can’t win against a man like that, more’s the pity 🙁
A harrowing scene, painted well
Very good–we all have a vigilante in us I think. In this case, MORE POWER TO THE NARRATOR!
Excellent! The subtle details put me in the moment, makes me wonder though if he kept the reciept. Might want to take it back and get something with a bit more firepower.
Wow. You gave me goosebumps. I can only wish for a happy ending, but I know they don’t exist in reality.
Goodness. Nothing makes me lose my mind more than noisy neighbors, though none of mine are quite like this. 🙂 Slice him up, narrator.
Chris – this is harrowing. Good, tight writing and nice descriptions. I agree with the idea of getting more firepower … i wish him luck.
I’ll repeat what I said about Jon’s story. I saw this on the news last night. Again. This crazy world! We wouldn’t be writing stories like this if they weren’t happening around us. Good job in the telling.
A knife’s probably not the right choice, but at least he’s choosing. Better than just listening and never trying. I’m glad I stopped by.
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Scary and sad. I like how they “just happen” to be around each other when he tries to talk to her.
You knocked this out of the park Chris. I found myself hoping that the narrator [and it’s interesting that you don’t give the narrator a gender until the last line] swings open the door and uses the split second of suprise to bury the knife into something meaty.
You did a great job of portraying the end of the rope scenerio that pushes the non violent to violence.
Intense. Great creation of fear and sadness for Callie, and suspense for the narrator. Well done capturing the feeling of knowing you should do something and being unsure exactly how or even if you should do it.
I like that he waited for him to come knock on his door. Smart character.