TE21 Serbian Moments

M. Caterina Mortillaro

Virtual Truth

Suddenly something captures his imagination. A woman. Dressed in red, with glossy raven hair, a very fair complexion, lipstick to match her dress. Though she’s luscious from head to foot, Jack is mesmerized by her voluptuous lips. Between swirls, she throws him glances from her huge dark eyes – slate- gray, possibly. He’d like them to be slate-gray. A peripheral part of Jack’s brain registers that the stranger dances divinely. She must be a regular. He moves towards her, magnetized. The music has changed.

mind. They’re both panting.

There’s aclick. Unmistakable. Ahand sticks out of the fur coats. Jack’s attention focuses on the ruby on the man’s little finger. She follows his gaze. Seeing the barrel of a gun, she screams. Jack unceremoniously puts a hand over her mouth and pushes her to the floor. The faceless man, or rather, the disembodied hand sticking out of the furs pulls the trigger. Jackwatches inslowmotionand thinks it’s reallycool todieafter such a good fuck. Then his brain explodes with excruciating pain.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks.

“I thought alcohol was prohibited,” she replies, with a half- smile. If she’s putting it on, she’s damned good. If not, who gives a shit.

*

He leads her to the bar. “Two moonshines.”

Thebarmannodsandplaces before themtwo innocent-looking glasses containing what seems to be water. Jack lifts his glass to her, his eyes never leaving hers: unfortunately, they aren’t slate-colored, but a warm chocolate brown. They both take a long draft. She laughs. Shortly after, they’re in a small room filled with furs, coats, and hats that smell of talc, cologne and mothballs. He lifts her skirt, fingers her suspenders, rips off her panties and thrusts into her. The young woman squeals excitedly. Jack would like to last longer, but it’s been ages since he felt such authentic sensations. He pumps nine or ten times, then lets himself go with a satisfied grunt. She doesn’t seem to 220

SCENE FIVE – INT. – INDEFINITE TIME Crap, being shot in the temple hurts like hell. Jack still has a headache, but his surroundings ignite his curiosity and enthusiasm. The ambience is familiar. Minimalist. Clean. There’s a background hum, like a lullaby. He lets himself be soothed, sleeps on a bit; then finally decides to wake up. He presses a few keys and is served coffee. Realizing he stinks, he gets into the sonic shower. He glances at himself in the tiny bathroom’s popup mirror, surprised at how haggard he looks. 221