Hollow Echo

The street was a lonely place. Once, long ago he had friends, People he liked to think cared about him. But they were gone now. The thought that there were once people who bothered to use his real name, a woman that was once willing share secret kisses with him without asking for money up front was supposed to be some kind of a comfort. That's what that bitch doctor would say at least, but what the fuck did that closet dyke know? She wasn’t even honest with herself.

The last time he was in that damned hospital the doctor had conned him into letting his guard down, to give into those emotions he had held back for so long. Thought he could trust the doc too, when those forgotten feelings finally came up it forced some kind of a break down. That was the first time he had cried, hell sobbed, since he had been a little boy being cuffed around by his dad. Made him feel weak, relieved, but weak. Then afterwards, when he was coming down the doc came over and gave him a pat on the back, then a hug, then a little kiss, then a longer kiss.

Felt nice. First good thing he had felt in years.

Then what did the bitch say? “Carl, no. We can’t… I’m not… This isn’t right,” then when she pulled back she followed it up with, “you better go.”

I better go? What the hell was she thinking? He had wanted to eat the end of a gun, but it was that crazy bitch that kept him from doing it back when he could still afford a gun. Wasn’t long before even the cheap crap you could buy on the streets had become too expensive for him to consider. He had to settle for trying to kill himself with cheap whiskey and gin. One bottle at a time, it was a slow way, but the store bought anesthetic made sure that it was painless, at least physically.

Still, with enough whiskey in him to provide that much needed warmth of liquid courage, Carl knew he would soon find himself standing in front of that dyke doctor’s apartment. He knew she felt the same thing he did that time they kissed. He was certain that he could straighten her right out. Once she felt what it was like to be with a real man she would love him. She would have to.

Carl planned to make her. This time when a woman touched him she wouldn’t be screaming out for money. Not this time.

One more shot should do the trick.

As he readied himself to order that last round it occurred to him that the bitch might not open the door for him. Well, he knew that there was enough strength in him to beat down any false pretense of denial a cheap door might provide her. No, she was going to feel the strength of a real man tonight.

Taking his last hit from the shot glass sitting in front of the passed out fool that had chosen a table too close. Carl stood up and got ready to leave while ignoring the glare of the bartender. He thought about yelling out some kind of threat to the old boozer turned bottle jockey, but Carl wasn’t totally ignorant of the brooding mood choking the life out of the bar.

With a last quick glance around the cheap joint, Carl turned towards the door just as it opened, his last thoughts were not on his lust and rage induced plans, instead they formed a much more basic question, A Cop? What the Hell?

Carl was the only person in the bar to not hear the gunshot, but despite his momentary deafness, he felt soft sting of the bullet as it kissed deeply into his flesh. As the dim lights of the bar began to fade away the dying man tried to reform the image of the cruelties he had managed to twist into thinking of as love that he had hoped to share with his doctor, but all he could was manage was that moment of surprise again and the image of the beat cop he had just stepped in front of.

Across the city a young and aspiring psychiatrist would sleep peacefully until morning.