Fast Fiction

— No Contest —

Before Paul could register what had happened, it was over.

He lay huddled on the floor, back up against the wall, shaking in fear, hands cradling his shattered foot. Tears and blood mingled on his face as he sat there in a pool of his own piss. A low squeal of pain slipped through his gritted teeth as he looked up at his attacker.

Danielle hovered over him, staring him down, rage written all over her face. Her eyes wide, drool at her mouth, a vision of dementia, she continued to point the gun at Paul.

"You bastard!" she screamed at him, gripping the gun tighter. "I warned you! Over and over I warned you! And you said you could handle it! Did you think I was joking? I told you before we signed the goddamn papers how important this was! I take my Dance Partners VERY seriously! And you have stepped on MY foot for the last time."

As darkness claimed him, Paul’s last thought was: "I guess a fuck’s out of the question..."