Why Did She?

She had forgetten to wash her make-up off in the bath again. Her hands plunged in to the cold water of her dirty sink.

She threw it on her face and repeated the movenment as she wiped the black eyeliner from under her eyes. Drying her face, she looked up at the steamed mirror and wanted to cry. Her muscles were so relaxed it felt incredibly hard to walk down the hall way to her bedroom. She wanted to give up and sleep on the wire-like carpet, but continued on the ever growing path instead.
After opening the door to her room, she flipped on the light switch and callapsed on her near by bed. With her eyes closed, she pulled off her robe and threw it with the little strength she had. Her naked body was warm and impatient for sleep. Pulling her grandmother’s quilt up to her bare shoulder, she fell into hypnotic trance.
Unsure if she was awake or asleep, she tried to move her now heavy body. Impossible. The deepest state of sleep finally came over her, but it didnt bother to be dreamless. Her mind placed images of men and laughing girls, of great music and of a death.
She began thinking to herself that this was no dream, this was her memory giving her a slide show she didn’t want to see. A real horror flick that could make her scream and cry like a six year old who has lost their mother. This was a nightmare that previously came true.
Her Nightmare
She walked into the bar, her intentions to get as drunk as possible. With each step, she could feel another pair of young, male eyes on her mostly revealed breasts. Less than an hour ago she was a law firm agent, now a wakening whore. Her newly shaven legs and beautiful blue eyes made every man her beckoning slave. She paraded to a bar stool and slowly sat down. Placing her sequened hand bag on the bar, she asked for some sort of exotic drink.. The bartender’s obvious glimpses down her shirt made her crack a smile. Many men came up to her, each striking up dull conversations and making pathetic attempts to get her in their run-down apartment beds. Was this her seventh or eighth glass?
A man sat down on the bar stool to her right. He demanded bacardi and orange juice. She let her eyes stray towards him, only to be interrupted by the bartender’s persistance in talking to her. She ignored his every word, merely yawning and knodding her head. Moments later, she realized the man had his vision set on her. She gave him a seductive glance and licker her lips and she turned away. He tapped her shoulder and gave the impression of a placid, bored, and smitten young man. They managed a mediocre conversation and she realized he was exactly what she believed he was. His large green eyes never seemed to fall down her shirt or even try to look over her flawless body. She began to feel a great need for this man in her life. Countless hours seemed to pass by. He invited her to come back to his shack-of-a studio. For some reason, she couldn’t control herself from agreeing.
They walked in, her stride cautious. He told her to follow him around the corner wall to his bedroom. The alcohol in both their systems talked more than all their words together. His hands were curious, moving in and out of her clothes. She hardly noticed, she stared straight into his eyes trying to make sense of him, she couldn’t. Another sex crazed man with no inner self for her to discover she guessed. Slightly sympathizing for his emptiness, she let him touch her however he pleased. Some of her conscious side began coming back to her. She grabbed his hand, but instead of taking it off her body she stroked it and let him go again. Stopping him was something she didn’t want to do at that time.
The realization of what she had to do fell into her mind. She let out a sort of sigh and he looked at her awkwardly. She rolled to the side of the bed and picked up her jacket. The heaviness of it made her stomach lurch. Slowly, she pulled out the .22 pistol hoping he wouldn’t notice. She whispered for him to make love to her in his ear and as he looked away for a brief second, the bullet spat out through his head. The sickness came, and she hurried to the bathroom to vomit. Everyday a new death, everytime the same sceen.