Reading: "Born Fatale is the Femme" from the praxis continuum (A.Glass 2018)

 

"I'm using your bank to snort coke..." She says, in a puerile and giggly manner. Fieke stands near the door, facing the hotel room with the three people within it, the man that had invited her into the room is using the toilet. Fieke hears him urinating, the other man with his mistress is pouring himself a drink, as the young woman lifts the mirror, with a small hollowed out tube. She presses her index finger over her left nostril, snorting up the white powder. Closing her eyes, the effect of cocaine is immediate, she leans back onto the couch looking at the man making the drink. Who then sits down next to the woman.

"You can take a seat if you like?" He says, looking at Fieke, as the woman sitting next to him giggles. Fieke stares at them both.

"You didn't ask my name," Fieke replies coldly.

The man has a sip of his drink, placing it down onto the stylized marble coffee table. He then looks at Fieke with an arrogant grin.

"What is your name?"

Fieke quickly draws her hand gun, with its attached suppressor, from her rear holster with both hands clutched round its handle – she shoots the man in the head, he slumps back, as the woman in a moment of psychosis and shock lunges forward at Fieke. "You bitch!" She screams out as Fieke fires a single shot at her head. She is flung back slumping against the man lying dead. The other man appears quickly from the bathroom, she turns to her left, aiming at him, also shooting him in the head. He collapses to the ground, she then looks over the three dead bodies. Particularly their eyes. Looking into the lifeless stares of the dead. Holstering her weapon.

Fieke quickly leaves the hotel room.

Staring ahead towards the darkened road as twilight begins to descend over the desert. She steers the hire car onto a small dirt road off Scenic Drive, moving further up to where a small cleaning is located behind a larger boulder, she moves closer to a part pf the canyon that many do not know about. A secluded area off the road which leads into Las Vegas. She stops, lifting the bottle of Rye Whiskey from the empty seat beside her and opens the door. Stepping onto sand with her designer high heels on, she smiles. Closing the door she opens the rear passenger door and takes out a large padded coat. Fieke then sits on the bonnet of the car, unholstering her hand gun she places it next to her, sitting back onto the windshield she removes the cork of the whiskey and has a large sip.

Full bottle...And it is good. No need to mix it this time. Looking up, she begins to see the Stars form, noticing how clear the sky is and through its clarity she sees the bright illumination of the constellations above. Fieke exhales, having an another sip, staring into the void of space. For a moment she thinks of her mother's grave in Frankfurt, Germany and her father's in Cincinnati. But, both memories fade as quickly as they are recalled. Personal recollections that have now dissipated into an impermanence. Her memory over the years, to what she recalls is only instinctive. Not emotive. Thoughts of the past hold very little significance or even value. A deletion of her own existence from time, with only the present moment relevant. Devised as an unconscious resonance.

"The mind, before it was born," she says to herself, closing her eyes.

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Reading: "Born Fatale is the Femme" from THE PRAXIS CONTINUUM (A.Glass 2018)