The Mark

Marc Tizura


I light my cigarette and take in a long drag. The pack was almost expended of its coffin nails those beautiful white bits of death. My glass on the table full of whiskey as I pick it up I swirled the brown liquid poison around before I allow it to enter my diseased temple of a body. The bottle like the pack was almost empty. To see it shatters my heart. The pictures of the girls spread out over my table my latest case that the police had thrown my way.

The girls, seven of them in all had supposedly committed suicide, but their families, the police, or I didn’t believe it either. I sat there transfixed by the pictures on my table as I swirled the whiskey in my glass for another sip. I put the glass down and took another drag on my cigarette. As always slowly…

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