Stories I Never Finished

Rendevouz

P R E V I E W

The quiet drip of rusted pipes sang its song against the tension of the bleeding night, sparkling stars drowned by the black of violent skies thrashed against the cold brick surface of an old basement shop hidden within the lost debris of a once bustling street.

A city once beautiful and vibrant now sunken into despair while leaders of the world made promises they refused to keep, dunking their money into molten gold and kicking rotten food to the rats scurrying desolate streets. Life moved on like normal, but each soul held tight to a sense of madness few would gift to the bitter world.

The glisten of a licked red lollipop shone within dull basement lighting, old metal chairs settled within a large circle each filled by a different member of chaos society.
With one leg crossed casually over the other, smooth black fabric of a loose blouse decorated by chains and leather tucked into the belted denim of ripped black jeans—topped off by the presence of midnight ankle boots whose heels threatened the concrete with its brutal touch—, a tall blond man sat comfortably amused in the company of vile sick freaks much like himself.

His blue eyes gleamed with untamed madness, a gun tucked into his belt holster while glimmering silver knives laid in secret wait upon his body. Pink lips pulled into a sly smile, pale skin decorated with smoking black makeup like a demon in a human's shell, he listened intently to a large, balding, man speak aggression of upcoming gangsters trying to make a quick buck.

"Those squirrel fucks better back the fuck down before I slit their godforsaken throats!" The man, Brién, spat; green eyes aflame with anger and skin sweating through the black of his well tailored suit.

"Oh shut up, Brién." A woman, tall and well curved with the shape of her voluptuous body whose thighs splayed across the surface of her chair like a goddess who knew how to live her life to the fullest, spoke with a brutally harsh voice.

"Some punk kids are no threat to us." She held a nail file within her grasp, pausing the touch up of her manicure as she mockingly spat back, "and your pathetic excuse of a French accent is beginning to piss me off."

She cared not for Brién's complaints, her brown eyes sparked by sheer frustration as they snapped toward the sweating man.

Luke adored her the most out of all the crazies he sat in company with. Although her beauty had always struck his soul with entrancement, smooth dark skin like the midnight skies he often slaughtered beneath and a fashion sense unmatched by the masculine-grubby assholes around her, it was her unwavering sense of dominance and demanding that truly made Luke fascinated by her.

If only all women could have a role model like Alheri, Luke knew the world would be under their control.

"Beginning to?" An older man, well kept like a bold CEO within a blinding glass tower, spoke. His hair was fading gold like the money he hoarded, tanned skin spotted by marks of the sun, as he sat casually with his arms crossed over his chest and his mind partially focused on listening out for his phone's potential ring.
"He's been pissing me off since I sat down."

The balding man rolled his eyes, coughing a hefty dirty hack into his curled fist to try and clear his smoker's throat; pointedly ignoring David's statement.

"I fear we've gotten rather off track..." the unspoken leader of the group spoke up, her small hands grasped to a clipboard marked in encrypted agenda notes; stepping in even though one member was yet to speak.
In flattering pink clothes, plain dress and cardigan matched to her shoes, the woman was a sparkling diamond of predator food—something she greatly feasted upon to scrounge for her newest victims of psychosis.