Creative Writing!

[sushi 9]

Show me some of your creative writing/poetry. Let me appreciate something you love! ♡

[sushi 9]

The kiss of cold steel against heated flesh was a sensation entirely new. Lionel Jacob Matherson could honestly say, up until that moment in time, that he had never stared down the barrel of a gun but there was, he thought, a first time for everything. Just an arm's length and 4.9" stood between himself and Marcus Ellery who wore an expression so dispassionate and utterly detached that it frightened Lionel more than the gun pressed between his eyes. Backed against a wall with hands up in surrender, he could go nowhere and he didn't dare glance away to seek out an escape route; his attention never left Marcus or the finger curled around the hair-trigger like a promise. He shook, trembled under the weight of the man's gaze and it was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling.

"M-marcus... come on, man.. we c-" Lionel's words were cut short by the distinct sound of a hammer cocked back.

"I have a loaded gun, Lionel, and you're seven seconds from a new hole in your face." There was a layer of ice over each syllable, a cold-blooded indifference that seeped from him and fell to the space between them like pins and needles. "If the next words out of your mouth aren't what I want to hear, I hope dearly you've made peace with the faults and failures of your life."

"It's like I said!" Lionel cowered like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, skin slick with perspiration and the buildup of tears. He felt the slight increase of pressure as Marcus pressed the mouth of the gun more firmly against his forehead, and he sucked in a sharp breath, words jumping from him in quick succession. He'd never talked so quickly before in his life.

"Okay, Okay! I heard Micky and Gino talkin' like they was gonna meet him down at the Bull on Thursday. Come on, Marcus, you know how they like t-, a-ah! Okay! They were talkin' like he was the one who done it, that's all I know, I swear!"

A streak of anger bright like lightening and just as quick flashed across his face and Marcus brought his arm back only to lash it forward, striking Lionel at the temple with the blunt end of his pistol. Lionel cried out in pain and toppled to the floor but he kept curled in defense against the wall. The blow had broken skin and he felt dizzied, the light of Marcus' dull desk lamp suddenly blinding.

"That's it, I swear! I swear!" he cried, arms up and legs curled as if at any second he expected a hailstorm of kicks and punches to befall him. Had Marcus not taken a few steps back, offering a safer distance between them, he might've delivered. An empty palm rose to wipe at the rugged stubble of his jaw and after a moment of contemplative silence, he turned from Lionel who remained fetal to take a few steps toward his desk, abruptly stopped, and stormed back over to the fallen man where knelt and with a low, threatening hiss, "Are you telling me Battocoletti is the one who sent my shit up in flames?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.." Lionel sobbed, fearful for his life and with good reason. A snarl ripped from Marcus' throat and the barrel of the Beretta he'd just had reclaimed was forced between teeth, causing Lionel's sobs to be replaced with gagging. Eyes blurred by tears, and a possible concussion, widened as he stared up at Marcus who's expression had gone from angered to that icy deadpan; that terrifying indifference to whether he lived or not.

"Seven, six.."

Lionel couldn't form words no matter how desperately he tried, pleading with his eyes for mercy while garbled sounds burst from around the steel nozzle shoved in his mouth.

"Five, four.."

Marcus' count down continued despite his obvious inability to answer properly, but he tried nonetheless, hot tears streaming from his eyes and all he could do was will his tongue to form a clear word, any word, anything at all as he stared up into the unsympathetic black of his employer's eyes.

"Three.. two.."

Lionel's eyes squeezed shut so tight he could see spots, hands flying to clasp around Marcus' wrist in a last ditch effort to pull the hand and the weapon it wielded away. He never even heard the last second chimed. There came a loud 'bang!", the softer thud of his hands as they fell limp to the floor, and then silence.

Marcus, though outwardly impassive, seethed with an internal anger that knew no bounds. As he looked down to the man on the floor, curled like a dead spider against the joint of wall and floor, a puddle of crimson seeping from the back of his head to stain the wood of his floors, all he could feel was a mix of disgust and resentment. Each little bit of skull and bloodied grey matter splattered across the area sickened him, but not in a way that it would most people; Marcus rose from his position knelt beside what used to be Lionel and his lip curled in a sneer.

"Time's up."