R.L. Leonard, Deceased

by Leon Jackson Davenport

Waking up on the floor, in my not too limited experience, is a sure sign that this is the bad morning after a good night. I normally spend my nights with friends and enemies; lovers and haters; royalty and criminals - whoever will have my company and pay for my drinks. A pool of blood surrounds my body, mixing with the chalk outline drawn by the unsteady hand of my overworked criminalist. Not a good sign, people talking about you as if you weren't there, when clearly you are there, right in front of them, on the floor, not doing anything, except being dead and almost gone. I whisper, "...find the little man in the light green suit," in the ear of the detective, who shudders and glances in my direction toward the empty bed. It'll be a long night for all of us.

6S

Leon Jackson Davenport, an occasional short story writer, lives in New Jersey but enjoys thinking about being somewhere else.