Popcorn Writing Forum Demented Cafe

The words had blurred on the page of the book she'd been reading and it was only nine o'clock. She needed to finish, but something pulled her eyes away from the book to see a strange man wearing a suit. His skin had a slight, red tint and his eyes were golden. She stared at him, but as his eyes connected with hers she jerked back to the book. The heel of his leather shoe began bouncing up and down like her father's when he drank too much on Saint Patrick's Day.

She heard the shoe stop in its motions abruptly. Footsteps sounded on the tile floor, comeing closer. Please don't be a drunk... she thought as she sat, trying to look as though she was absorbed in  her book. The footsteps stopped at her booth "Ahem" she continued the ruse. "Aren't you a quiet one?" she looked up, exasperated. "A pretty one to, how about that." he continued, sliding into the opposite bench. She gave him "The Look"  as her friends called it "What do you want?". "A chat with an attractive young woman" "Good luck with that" she stated passively and resumed pretending to read her book.

The man chuckled, "Ah come now, I've been told I hold interesting conversations." She glared at him, and went back to reading her book with an intense setermination not to play along with this odd feloow's game. He rolled his eyes. "You're very stuborn aren't you?" The man noted. "Can I atleast have your name?" She sighed, "If I tell you mmy name wiwll you leave me the hell alone?" A mischevious smile toyed at his lips, "Maybe." "Fine, it's heather."

He smiles "Heather." he repeats, almost in a croon "What a lovely name for such a lovely lady." she rolls her eyes "I'm not interested. Just leave me alone, okay?" his smile takes on a cold, cruel edge "I don't believe I will." he says in the same tone he used before "I don't particularlly want to." he reaches into his coat, looking for something

An uneasy feeling fluttered in her stomach; quietly she started to back out of her chair. The man, without looking up, trapped her wrist in an iron grip. Heather glared at him coldly and sat back down. The man quirked a little smile and glanced up. "Ahh," he whispered not without amusement, "here it is."

He pulls out a gun and stands, dragging her out of the booth and holding an arm around her neck. He places the gun to her temple and begins to shout as she struggles "Nobody move! Anyone tries to play hero-" he draws back the hammer "I shoot!"

"What the hell?" Heather gasped, tears pricking her eyes. All eyes in the cafe were locked on them, some in terror others in confusion.

Heather glared at him, but the gun in his hands prevented her from doing anything more. Following the man's lead she walked outside the café with him. "Why did you chose me out of all of the people there?" She asked, still glaring at the man. The man shrugged, "I told you, I wanted to have a conversation with a pretty woman. Does the fact that I am holding a gun make it any different?" He grinned, walking her over to his car and opening the door for her.