Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,2

now. My wife and my friend; fucking like dogs just a few doors from here. I’m going to give them what they deserve. I don’t give a fuck about going to jail, it’ll be worth it.”

He drank the remains of his whiskey and slammed the empty glass down angrily on the table. A drop of amber splashed the side of the glass and began a depressing descent to the bottom.

“I just need a bit of Dutch courage,” he grunted as the harsh whiskey rolled down his throat.

The reader slowly nodded.

“You not scared?” Neil quizzed, flashing the gun in front of him, making sure he had noticed it.

“Not really.”

“It's fully loaded. Six shots. This is a real gun you know.”

“I noticed that.”

Neil stared at the unimpressed man, trying to catch a sense of fear or anxiety hidden behind those dead eyes. He looked hard, studying the lifeless orbs, but found nothing. If he was hiding any fear he was hiding it well.

“Fucking weirdo,” he spat.

He climbed lazily to his feet and steadied himself on the table after his legs threatened to give way. He stuffed the gun into his jacket, shot one final look at the side of the bartender’s head and then disappeared out of the pub.

When the doors of the pub slammed shut in the drunkard's wake; after the bartender breathed a huge sigh of relief, muttered a thankful curse under his breath and allowed his mind to prepare for sleep, the only customer remaining in the bar calmly closed his book, deposited it into his pocket and walked towards the exit.

****

Neil staggered down the street, spitting distasteful comments as his mind whirled with madness. He paused under the hazy glow of a streetlight -- looking like a Dickensian villain in the ethereal halo -- to paint the pavement with a glob of sticky saliva, before continuing on to his destination.

Through the front window of one of the terraced houses he watched two silhouettes dancing together in the cosy radiance of a dozen candles, their naked forms entwined in the flickering warmth.

“Fucking bastards,” he spat. “Bastards!” his shout was loud enough to twitch a few curtains in the street, but the lovers dancing in the orange glow didn’t flinch.

Shaking with anger, Neil kicked open the gate to the property and stormed to the doorway. Behind him, unseen in the shadows, the reader with the apathetic eyes watched as Neil dropped a shoulder and charged the door, snapping it free from a flimsy lock and stumbling onwards into the warm house.

A scream from the house echoed into the street. Curtains twitched; lights snapped on like lines of luminous dominoes; fingers hovered over final digits on multiple phones. The stranger in the shadows calmly walked forwards.

The screaming woman dragged her voice back to her throat, gathered her senses and glared at the intruder. “Neil!” she pulled away from the tight embrace of her naked lover, clawing his reluctant hands away from her exposed breasts.

The disappointed naked man didn’t seem as startled by the intrusion. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes on Neil, his hands still trying to instinctively grasp the flesh next to him. “It’s not what it--”

“Don’t even try to lie to me,” Neil interrupted, his voice sharper in the moment, the slur of inebriation overpowered by adrenaline.

He raised the gun, pointing the trembling barrel at his wife and his best friend, giving them an equal share. “I know what you’ve been up to. I’ve always known. I’m going to give you both what you deserve.”

His wife moved forward, shoving a stray hand away from her thigh. “Neil, don’t do this. Calm down. There’s no need--”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down bitch!” Neil’s finger grasped tighter on the trigger as the anger coursed through his veins. “Ten years we’ve been married!” he yelled, waving the gun around like he was conducting an orchestra. “Ten fucking years!” he turned his disappointment towards his former best friend. “How can you do this to me?”

“Look mate--”

“No!” Neil snapped, the gun now madly rolling around his palm, the barrel threatening everyone and everything in the room. “I’m not your fucking mate, not anymore. We’ve been best friends since junior school, we’ve known each other most of our lives. I’ve never done any wrong by you. I’ve never stepped out of line. I’ve never even looked at any of your girlfriends,” Neil was emphasising his comments by pointing to himself, forgetting he was holding a gun. His potential