Run (Part 11)
David never knew who she was. She was just a random pick at a random bar in middle of nowhere Appalachia. She was short, with a knee-length black dress on, her dark, curly hair pulled back in a bun. She was wearing a gold cross necklace, but instead of Christ, there was a robed figure, with a skeletal face. She was one of them… which made it so much more appropriate. He struggled to act like a gentleman, attempting to compose himself when he knew what was to come. She didn’t particularly mind. She was used to awkward, sad men. Hell, everyone out here was awkward and sad, herself included.
When her legs got wobbly, and her head swirled, she knew something was wrong, but it was too late.
He got her out of the bar and into his truck.
He took her out into an empty holler.
He got what he wanted and proved once and for all, he was strong.
He took a few pictures to prove to his brothers and left her on the side of the road. He got cheers and shots, and was given a hasty tattoo on his left breast: a wolf head over an iron cross. He had never felt so proud, so powerful, so free. He was never going to die.