Photo courtesy of Walmart

Rivulets of sweat trickled down the small of my back as I waited, watching him from the alley. The big-mouth Mexican bastard I had once called my friend, pawing all over some sweet little senorita- her letting him coo and kiss on her until finally, I guess her father had had enough, as the porch light went on, and he called her inside. 

But there would be a next time.  A time when nobody would be there to protect her. A time when he would keep purring and promising and pushing himself on her until she was too scared or too confused or too whatever it is a girl gets when she just decides it’s just easier to do what he wants than to fight him off anymore. 

And then, as if she wasn’t someone’s daughter or someone’s sister- as if no one cared about her, no one loved her, he’ll use her too. She’ll become just another notch on his belt. Just another conquest to brag about to his cabrones. Just another puta that had fallen prey.

Just like my sister.

An unspeakable anger welled up inside me when I thought about not only what he had done to my sister, but what he had said about her afterward. How he had told any guy that would listen that she was begging for it, that she was a freak, that there was no way she could have been a virgin, and if he hadn’t seen the blood for himself he would never have believed it.

My anger grew vicious as I heard his footfalls approaching the alley where I lay in wait. When he crossed the opening I leapt on him, catching him in a choke hold, and dragged him back into the alley. Slipping the gun from my waist, I pulled back the hammer, slipping one in the chamber, and rested the mouth of the cylinder against his temple.

“You fucked up muchacho.” I whispered desperately into his ear as I pressed the gun more firmly against his temple. “You fucked with my sister and if that wasn’t reason enough for me to kill you, you ran you’re fucking mouth about it. You told all your little cabrones what a puta you made out of my sister. My fucking sister! I thought you were my friend!”

My arm tightened around his throat, till I heard the unmistakable sound of piss streaming down the legs of his pants. I let go then. Let him slip down into the puddle that was fast forming at his feet.

“Your a big man, aren’t ya? Big man with the ladies. Big man with a big mouth sitting in a big puddle. What have you got to say for yourself now, big man? Open that big mouth of yours and give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you.” I chided him, as I lowered my gun, and eased back the hammer. My need to kill him having dissipated with his dignidad into that puddle of degradation.

As I turned to walk away, I could hear him crying and muttering something over and over to himself in Spanish, “Aye, dios mio. Soy muy hacicon. Soy muy hacicon.” 

I didn’t know what it meant, and it really didn’t matter anymore. I got what I came for. His gravitas, his dignity. Exactly what he had stolen from my sister. An eye for an eye.

This was a tough one. OLWG #16. The phrases were:

  1. As if no one cared
  2. soy muy hocicon
  3. One in the chamber

Not sure if I like this one or not. But I wove in all the prompts, and that’s what I am challenging myself to do. Oh, and gravitas means dignity in Latin. Just liked the word so much I had to use it…..

5 thoughts on “Gravitas

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