MicroHorror

“I need to close up now, John. My wife will be wondering where I am.” His accent was still forming, having only been away from the States for about three years. He wiped the bar in the same places he had for the last hour, stealing glances at the clock on the wall.

“No problem, Ezra. I’ve spent quite enough time bemoaning my sad little life for one day.” I made a dull attempt at a smile before lifting the glass to my lips. The Scotch burned down my throat as I gained my balance and pushed away from the low, mahogany bar.

Stepping out into the snowy winter night, I pulled my jacket lapels up and shuddered. Ezra locked the deadbolt of the bar’s red front door behind me as I looked down the narrow cobblestone road. Luckily, I only had a few blocks to walk to get back to my apartment. Berlin in December was far from a tropical paradise, but my art had brought me here, that and Anna. She had left for New York last week having accepted a position in some yuppie gallery. Before she left, she made a point of letting me know I wasn’t worth bringing with her.

The sidewalks were blanketed with ice and snow that cracked beneath my feet like glass. An eerie quiet consumed the street and the only light came from the storefront windows, illuminated with their wares and vulgar displays of holiday consumerism.

My mind was full with drunken thoughts as I crossed the street and neared the dark alley adjacent to my building. A shrill scream from deep in the darkness broke my mental machinations and I jerked my head in the direction of the commotion. I could barely make out the forms of two people, so close to each other they almost appeared as one. Without thinking, I stepped hurriedly down the alley as the woman continued to yell, occasionally muffled by her attacker’s hand. He muttered at his victim in German in words I couldn’t quite make out.

As I drew nearer to the attack in progress, I yelled out at the man to stop. His whole body tensed up as if electrified. Turning to face me, he used his left hand to grasp the throat of his young victim, forcing her body to arch painfully over a closed dumpster. For a moment, he looked deep into my eyes as if he were trying to find something to say, his lips drawn tight over his teeth in a frightening grimace or smile. His short, stout body held firm even as the girl struggled beneath his grasp.

After a moment of staring at me, he returned his attention to the task before him. With his free hand he covered the gnashing mouth of the girl, as he continued to crush her throat. Her face was turning blue, eyes bulging and bloodshot.

As soon as the man’s gaze left me, I darted the few yards between us and grabbed his shoulders, pulling his hands free of his victim. In a flurry of movement, he righted himself and pushed his body against mine, slamming me against the damp brick wall. Struggling to regain control, I looked towards where the girl had lain across the dumpster. Her yellow hair glinted in the light as she stepped toward her attacker and began to caress his back. I noticed the knife in her hand just as she reached up and deftly drew it across my neck. The skin fell loose as I felt my blood drain down, gurgling and spurting upon the man who still held me. I struggled and stared into the man’s deep, black eyes. As my strength left me, he let me slouch down the wall.

Arm in arm, the couple walked down the alley towards the street. The girl dropped the bloody knife and whispered huskily to the man, “That was sexy, lover. I want you inside me.”