KJ and Budgie give each other writing prompts each Wednesday, and they have to write a piece based on that prompt, no matter what it is. They are not allowed to reveal the prompts in their posts.
This is Prompt as Hell with KJ Marshall and Budgie Bigelow.
Episode 12 – April by KJ Marshall
Jailhouse Confession – April 18, 2018
She made a game out of fucking up other people’s lives, and she played it well. She was my white trash vixen. My trailer park Aphrodite; hot as a dumpster fire, and twice as dangerous. I was damned the moment her bright green eyes locked into my big brown ones.
She flashed me a toothy smile, and if I were a dude, I’d have probably gotten a boner. I knew I had to have her, what I didn’t know though, was that she was a mother fucking psychopath.
It’s safe to say that our entire relationship was built purely on lust. We fucked in every swampy corner of Louisiana; our part of Louisiana, anyway.
The first red flag about her predilection for being a walking hurricane was when her friend’s husband ended up decapitated behind a dumpster. I’m not saying I knew right then that she’d done it, but the only people who were supposed to know the condition of the body were the cops and the murderer, but she knew. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just figured her big imagination had coincidentally coincided with the murder of her best friend’s husband. But then I found out she wasn’t only fuckin’ me. She was also fuckin’ her best friend.
Yeah, I was pissed when I found out I was getting sloppy seconds from Fiona. That right there says what kind of person she was. Who the fuck has a name like “Fiona” anyway? I didn’t stop messin’ with April, though. She was too hot. I couldn’t stop myself. Fiona wasn’t that nasty, either. I’m just jealous, I guess. I’d have probably had sex with her, too, if she’d had asked. Also, I’m not a nymphomaniac or anything. I just appreciate a beautiful woman like a fine piece of art, but instead of hanging on my walls, she’s laying in my bed.
The second red flag that my beautiful April waved right in front of my face was when I showed up at her house to pick her up one night. I walked in, and she was laying on the couch, covered in blood.
“What the hell happened to you?!” I asked.
She looked at me, but she looked through me. There was no life in her eyes that night. She didn’t have any injuries on her body, so who’s blood was it? The next day, one of our neighbors was reported missing by her boss, and the rumors had started that April was doin’ her, too.
“You fuckin’ Misty, too?” I questioned.
“What’s it to you,” she rolled her eyes and waved her finger through the air. “We ain’t committed. We’re just havin’ fun.”
“I realize that, April, but you’re exponentially increasing the chances of STD’s by being so promiscuous.”
“I hate when you use big words.”
Okay, so I’d let the Fiona thing go. But now Misty? I was getting annoyed pretty quickly.
Have you ever heard the term “Three strikes and you’re out?” That’s what happened with fine ass April.
My cousin approached me one day and said, “Hey. You know April’s messin’ with you, Misty, Fiona, and Joanne, right?”
“Yea. You might wanna let that one go.”
Damn. Finding out there was a third girl in the mix really pushed me over the edge.
I called April, and she showed up my house, ready to be confronted.
“We gotta stop doing this thing we’re doing.” I said as she walked through the door.
“’Cause you’re runnin’ around, fuckin’ anything that’ll spread its legs long enough!”
She sat next to me and ran her long fingers through her hair as her thick eyelashes fluttered in front of her eyes. “C’mon. Don’t be like that.”
I realized in that moment that her seductive prowess is how she managed to keep us all wrapped around her pinky.
“Okay,” I smiled. “Hey. What do you say we go in my room and make up?”
She readily agreed, of course. We walked into my room and I shoved her down on the bed and straddled her hips. I kissed that girl like it would be the last time.
I ripped her clothes off in record time too, and it wasn’t long before she was moaning beneath my touch.
She liked things to be a little rough, so I pinned her arms above her with my left hand. I leaned in to her ear and whispered, “Close your eyes.”
Once her eyes were closed, I leaned toward my night stand and opened the drawer.
Once I’d grabbed what I needed, I slid the drawer shut and smiled. With April’s eyes still closed, I leaned in and gave her one more kiss before raising my hands in the air and thrusting the knife into her chest.
I stabbed her probably thirty times, and believe me when I say it’s messy, and it takes a lot of energy. She didn’t die right away, either. Her eyes popped open and she gurgled for air, and I whispered one last message. “I told you to stop fuckin’ around.”
She was my white trash vixen. My trailer park Aphrodite; hot as a dumpster fire, and twice as dangerous.
But I’m more dangerous.