Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Reversing grip on his gun to bring the butt smashing against the bouncer’s head, the drunk proved himself far from drunk. He continued to spin towards me as he reversed the grip again, but the time he took to take care of the Billy, bless his simple soul, the distraction provided me the time to finish the spell.
Like-to-Like. Unhealthy poisonous dangerous things within a radius around the assassin came-together. Beer glass and gun combined. My ex, who was sitting on a bar stool next to the assassin, slammed into the man.
Poor assassin. My ex weighed 250 pounds, all stalker-muscle, and he didn’t want anyone but him touching me. The owner didn’t care if the ex stayed around, so long as he paid for his counter space and didn’t make the now-unconscious bouncer work. Bridger was five beers into his counter space rent for the night and would not untangle easily and would be cranky about it the whole time.
As entertaining as watching that would be, I decided running would be better.
(words 174, first published 3/28/2022, from a FB visual prompt for a writing group I belong to, aiming for around 50 words)