Love and Darkness and a Sidearm - a scary freewrite

The cursed say they are damned for all eternity. Me, I say, sometimes it’s just plain dumb luck that you get caught and then people go ahead and make up a big fuss about it, when secretly you know they are happy you did it. Delighted, is even a better word. They are delighted that you rid the place of a bad human being. Sometimes people don’t get what’s coming to them soon enough and you’ve got to give nature a helping hand.

I didn’t mean to shoot him, but he just kept coming at me. Paul was always a little crazy, you know, especially when he drank. Liquor is like a demon, a gold liquid demon. When you drink enough of the demon, it makes you do crazy and mean things. It’s like there’s this little voice talking inside of your head and telling you to do things, thing you would never normally think of doing. And the devil, he’s like an old cowboy who’s bent on breaking you. He rides and rides you and you can’t buck him off and he digs his heels into your sides, till pretty soon you get used to the pain and the hurt. He knows and you know that it’s just a matter of time, before you become his, his prize. And Paul was definitely one of his prize specimens.

Poor Paul, he couldn’t go more than a couple of days at least as far as I could tell without a drink. And when he didn’t drink, the devil would dig his spurs into old Paul and Paul would get all mean. But nasty mean, even meaner then when he did drink.

Whenever Paul got mean, I poured him a whiskey in one of those little glasses with the oranges on them, that mama gave me years ago. I’d hand it to Paul and he’d look at me, the hate coming out of his eyes like an icy heart stopping wind. You know, the kind that whips right through you in the dead of winter and chills you to the bone. But after a minute, he’d laugh, take the glass and down the content in one gulp without spilling a drop. Then he’d be okay, at least for awhile.