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Baby Steps






Baby Steps







Curt stood watching the sunrise on the ocean.

There was a weird magic that existed upon the salt air something almost spiritual,

he would dare say, if not for the fact he was a true atheist in every sense of the word.



Of course, maybe it was just something in the overpriced tequila

that brought that sentimental shit out of him.

All he knew was his emotions were kicking in overdrive.



He slowly sipped his drink because this time he had really done it

and no amount of money or false apologies was going to fix

this mess he had so easily got himself into.



“You really fucked yourself this time dude!”

Max said as they spoke over the phone.



She was underage and this time money wasn't a sure fire fix for a far too messed up situation.

And once the media caught the scent of blood in the water it was over.

But Curt always did love forbidden fruit of course his best friends fifteen year old daughter was crossing a line, even he knew was all kinds of messed up.



But spoiled fools and athletes were one in the same.



He always had issues he knew it himself he knew the sickness for what it was.

And although his fellow teammates were far from saints, he was a different kind of twisted.



It was just too easy and his experiences had taught him well.

Maybe it was part of a cycle and he was just like some odd vampire who had been turned when he was young and now, he desired to share that sickness.



That or maybe he just enjoyed everything he was told he could not have.



Either way the jig was up, and soon he knew at some point a knock would be at the door.

They would dig through everything and no matter how well you bury your trash somehow dogs with a scent always seem to find your garbage.



There were pictures, a few videos, souvenirs of a wickedly good time all the rewards of the fact he was athletically gifted and ever so simple minded.



“You think there is a chance people will forgive me? Maybe I can return to the game after all this blows over?”



His lawyer looked at him like he wanted to vomit at just how narcissistic his client truly was.



“I’m going to be honest with you here, they practically burn men at the stake for acting like a wolf now here you are the devil in the fucking flesh so it’s either face the music or leave the country like Polanski.”



“You got any hobbies besides running down behind high school girls? Because buddy you are going to have plenty of time to concentrate on a new hobby in the clink pal!”



He knew from his lawyers frankness this was it.

And although tempting he wasn't going to run off to some foreign country besides, he burnt through his money like it was water the minute the endorsement money quit coming in he was screwed royally. 



Curt couldn't say how long he stood there watching the sunrise but as he viewed the cops approach the gate on his security monitor.



He felt his heart sink the gates were already open he let the glass drop to the floor.

Curt viewed his last sunset before his so called empire came crashing down.



He stood there for what seemed like a moment frozen in time.



Then he took that first step.



And as the barstool kicked out from under him, he was met by the harsh snap of the rope around his neck.



His weight alone was enough to snap his neck, the pain was fire as he felt as though his eyes were going to pop out of his head from the pressure.



Then his vision began to fade.



They claim most people who hang themselves actually die from a mistake.



But as his body convulsed and the cops viewed this twisted prick hanging from a cross beam over the bar it seemed a just reward for this spoiled prick indeed.



One small step for a lesser form of humanity.

Others would say he truly put his best foot forward that early morning.



Either way he was dead much like this story.



                      

The End





John Patrick Robbins





Is the editor of the Rye Whiskey Review , Drinkers Only and Under The Bleachers .



His work has been published here at Ariel Chart,  The Blue Nib , Punk Noir Magazine,  Piker Press, The San Pedro River Review, The Mojave River Review, The San Antonio Review, Blognostics .



His work is always unfiltered. 

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2 Comments

  1. Among us lurks these monsters. Shine the light!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hard hitting fiction with a real-world application. I salute you.

    ReplyDelete