The Interrogation

Huzfan

He held my face,

Puckering his lips

And instead of a loving kiss,

He blew cigar smoke

Into my face.

I tried to pull away,

Tried to not breathe in

The acrid air tinged

With his breath,

But he held my face still.

Tears rolled down my cheeks,

They came on their own,

A result of my physical pain,

Not my emotional pain.

He smirked.

A yellow smile

Blossomed across the lower half

Of his wrinkled face.

If you didn’t look closely

You would not have noticed

His gold tooth.

I spat in his face,

My phlegm washed

His smile away.

His back slap

Wiped mine away.

He had grown tired

Of our little game.

I was not giving him

The information he wanted.

He turned to retrieve his whip.

My hands remained bound,

But I was free of the chair,

Free of his watchful eyes.

I tucked my legs in

And swung my arms forward.

Seeing my new freedom,

He released his hip,

I dodged it and grabbed it,

Yanking it and pulling him to me.

With two deft movements,

I had the whip around his neck,

Twisting it until

His body stopped thrashing.

I freed my wrists

With his pocket knife.

I collected the money

On the bedside table,

Five Hundred Dollars.

As he slept on the floor

Of the motel room,

I let myself out.

Another pervert satisfied.

I should be more careful,

I nearly killed him that time.