She was straddling his chest

She was straddling his chest.  It was a wooden floor, unvarnished, splinters getting stuck in her black stockings which she kept pulling out.  They were both drunk.  She kept giggling and spilling to one side.
It was a wooden floor, unvarnished, splinters getting stuck in her black stockings which she kept pulling out.  They were both drunk.  She was straddling his chest.  A flash of lightning: a splash of blood on the ground by his lips.  Wads of semen between his legs.

It was a wooden floor, unvarnished, splinters getting stuck in her black stockings which she kept pulling out.  They were both drunk.  She was straddling his chest and spilling to one side, giggling.  He made a consistent, low moaning noise.  "Shhh," she said, and put a bloody finger over his lips.  She wiped the finger, smearing blood over his lips and face.

It was a wooden floor, unvarnished, splinters getting stuck in her black stockings which she kept pulling out.  She kept spilling to one side.  They were both drunk.  She was straddling his chest.  She started to slide his pants off.  "Please," him said, voice hoarse.  "Don't".  "Okay," she said, and then paused for a moment.  She grabbed a screwdriver that was clanking around the wooden floors and drove its point into the center of him's crotch.  It didn't fully puncture skin, at first, only a little bit, making a little indentation in his genitals which gushed blood over a soundtrack of shouts.

It was a wooden floor, unvarnished, splinters getting stuck in her black stockings which she kept pulling out.  They were both drunk.  She was straddling his chest.  She now had the screwdriver halfway in him's face, and it was stuck.  She kept pulling at it, trying to dislodge it as if from a carved pumpkin.  Him was screaming and burbling.  She enjoyed the audio track of agony too much.

It was a wooden floor, unvarnished, splinters getting stuck in her black stockings which she kept pulling out.  They were both drunk.  She was straddling his chest.  She pulled the screwdriver out and blood spattered her own face.  Yuck.  Lots of wailing and moaning noises now.  Holding the yellow handle with both hands, she drove the screwdriver into him's drunk, fucked up face another once or fifty more times.

*********

Two.

I get out of the shower and it takes me a little while before I see I have a missed call from Georgia.  My first response is to panic, and then to quickly run a list of names through my head of everyone I know with a Georgia area code.  I can't remember anyone, and then my stomach becomes an eternally-hardening ball of ice because I remember: Alice.

That one night.  That one night will haunt me for the rest of my life.  She seemed like such a kid, well she didn't, but it's hard to explain...I never thought she would get the cops involved.

A knock at the front door.  I stand up, finish the tumblr of bourbon which was sitting on top of my copy of The New Yorker, inside of which I had yesterday slipped a printed-out copy of my own short fiction, just 'cause.  In the mirror that I do coke off regularly I look at myself: light tan, short expensive haircut, features soft and hard in all the right places.  I grin wide at myself, knowing that if this is it, if the cops are at my door, at least I look damned handsome and wealthy before being slandered a pedophile or whatever.

Fearless of the frantic knocking now, I pull open the front door and Alice is swinging a sdfj-dffk----

**********

Deer Diary,

Killed more evil men today.  I need new power tools.  Okay, let's see, let's see...Check mark, I'm up to....Well, you know how many I'm up to.