Face Painter
There was a sudden sharp sting.
The blood poured out over the concrete.
It appeared black in the darkness.
He couldn’t even be sure it was blood at first.
Then the bastard stabbed him in the face again.
Below the right orbital bone this time.
He hadn’t seen it coming.
Saw the fist and thought it a punch.
Something jumping out of the nearby garbage
and running off with this sudden commotion.
Blood running down into his eyes and mouth,
he threw a winging punch back that connected.
It was enough to scare the bastard off.
Dropping the blade, he remembered that shiny metallic
sound as it bounced off the pavement.
No one there to help,
he shuffled out towards the street.
Collapsing by the waste basket
full of dirty syringes.
©2024 Ryan Quinn Flanagan All rights reserved.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many mounds of snow. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Cajun Mutt Press, Dumpster Fire Press, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.
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