c.a. davis

// filmmaker | editor | storyteller \\

Flash #2: Don't Look Away

I saw him lying there and a foul stink surrounded my nostrils which reminded me of an old refrigerator I failed to sell for about three months.

The son-of-a-bitch was dead.

Oh. Oh no.

I looked around and dropped the revolver -- the emptied revolver -- onto the concrete floor. It smacked the cement with its heavy and dull metal exo-frame and spun to a halt next to a single -- the only -- shell beneath my feet.

Shit. Well.

He lost the game -- a sadist's idea of roulette -- and now the son-of-a-dead-dog was as dead as a bitch.

You're not thinkin' straight. You gotta think straight.

How did I wind up there? Where was my out? Did I win any money? Did anybody see it, hear it, or feel it? I'm sure he did.

I'm sure he did.

Then I woke up, next to a pile of Benjamins, sandwiched between three gorgeous women, my head still buzzing from the party two days prior.

And then I realized, It was just one of those dreams, homie. Just one of those dreams.