I think you'll find that this was your first mistake

It started as a sort of ruse, a game to keep one entertained. She was looking for an intimate ally, a partner in crime, a co-conspirator, a co-combatant on the field of wild desire... you get the idea.

But where to search? How to find that certain someone who embodies the rare characteristics of heart, soul, body, and mind that the task requires?

***

She drove too fast, chain smoking, trying to keep the engine humming in time to the music. She didn’t know where she was going. She just drove. The desert highway was empty and the black tarmac glittered in her headlights as if embedded with shattered diamonds. She laughed to herself at the thought. She thought of carbon and the nature of the universe and realized that she didn’t know what any of it meant. She wasn’t even sure that it needed meaning. It just was. She glanced at the .45 on the seat next to her. “Oh shit. I’ve got to get rid of that thing. Got to… find… Shit.” An image of the bodies flashed through her mind; contorted, clasped together, to remain in that final embrace for eternity. Or at least until the coroner gets there. No. It was best not to think about it. Not now. It was far too late for regret. What’s done is done, there’s no taking it back now. She turned the music up and drove in time to the pulsating beat. She’d always felt like an outlaw, but what does an outlaw do in this situation? She tapped her fingers to her forehead. THINK! Right, get rid of the murder weapon. Manufacture an alibi. Get out of the country for a while.

To be continued...

* Yes I am aware of the irony. I sit at the writing desk to compose an elegy to victims of gun violence and what comes out is a short story about gun violence. When you figure out what's wrong with me, let me know. Thanks.