My city screams like a dame who is getting her purse snatched. I grab at the rope stitching holding my arm to the stub and pull, tightening the fit. “I’ll be right with you, dollface.” I say. My voice is low and gravely, but she’s used to it.

I hop off the cold slab of a table and pull a weapon off the wall. The type that’d break any normal Joe’s arm from the recoil. It probably broke mine each time I used it, pity I can’t feel it anymore.

My city is screaming now like an alleyway full of stray cats. I need to pull these slugs out of my chest before I go and throw some lead at them and quiet them down. I dig around my chest with the forceps as if I’m looking for gold. Blood flows out of the wounds like it has better places to be. I don’t notice anymore. I replace the forceps on the counter as she gets ready for her third scream in ten minutes. She’s really needin’ attention tonight.

“I’m out the door, hold your horses.” I murmur as I open my office door. My city is cold tonight. I’m used to the cold.

View this story's 1 comments.