Bruce-wilson - Bruce Wilson

Random, but if anyone would like a free PDF copy of this small poetry collection, just shoot me a message with your email... The only thing I ask for in return is a review, on goodreads preferably 💜

I'll just leave this here, let me know how terrible it is...

Prologue : March 14, 1980

The kid was in an ally, paralyzed by unadulterated fear and terror. He wept into his hands and jumped at every little sound he heard. His sixteen-year-old brain ran through a million thoughts a second. He started taking deep breaths as he tried to calm himself, which didn't work. Then he looked at the dumpster he stood by through the tears in his eyes. After a few seconds, he started punching it as hard as he could. He then collapsed to his knees and held his more than likely broken hand. His sobs weakened as panic finally started to wear down. Then he spoke to himself in an almost manic state of desperation.

"What the fuck am I going to do? I can't go home. Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!!."

He stood back up as he still held his hand. Then he looked around the ally frantically as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He became sick to his stomach as he heard a police siren get closer to him. Then he got back on his knees behind the dumpster as he started to dry heave, which inevitably led to him vomiting all over the side of it.

"Hey, kid, are you okay?"

The kid's eyes went wide as he heard the voice behind him, then he wiped his mouth as he got to his feet and started to walk away.

"Kid, I'm not a cop."

The kid stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Then he turned and saw a man in his late twenties to early thirties with long black hair. He started crying again as he clung to the strange man.

"It was an accident. I didn't mean to do it."

His voice shook as he spoke. He continued to sob into the man's shirt as he incoherently tried to talk.

"I-I-I-I di-didn't..."

"Shh, it's okay, kid."

The man paused as he rubbed the kid's back and sighed.

"Let's get you somewhere safe."

Then he turned and started walking him to his car.

"There are a lot of cops out tonight."

After they got to the car, he opened the passenger side door for the kid and closed it behind him. Then he walked around to the driver's side and got in. As he started the engine, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and grabbed two, then lit them both. He handed one of the cigarettes to the kid, who accepted it and took a drag.

"So, umm, what's your name, kid?"

He asked as he started driving, then took a few long drags from his cigarette as he opened the window. He felt the kid's eyes on him as he continued to drive. Then he looked over and saw the suspicion in the kid's eyes. He sighed as he took another drag from his cigarette, then introduced himself.

"I'm Lynn Miller, the president of the Broken M.C."

He saw the kid nod from the corner of his eye.

"I'm Craig Bailey."

He sighed as he looked down, then continued.

"But what few friends I had called me, Lucifer."

"Nice to meet you, Lucifer."

Lynn said, then after he pulled into the parking lot of the M.C. clubhouse, he put the car in park and looked at Lucifer.

"So, what were you talking about when you said it was an accident?"

"I killed somebody."

Lynn lit another cigarette and examined Lucifer as he thought.

"Who?"

Lucifer sighed as he looked down into his lap and took a shaky handed drag from his cigarette.

"The captain of the football team."

"Bundy" Death is Art.... TeePublic...

His ashes were spread

Where the bodies bled

(Link in my bio)

"Glass"

Look in the mirror

Pale skin

Black hair

Death in his eyes

Lust on his tongue

Pleading

Begging

Crying

Waiting

For his time to come

(Poem from my first poetry collection 'Waiting on a Light That Was Never There' available in both paperback and ebook, links in my bio 🇺🇲 🇬🇧 🇩🇪 🇫🇷 🇪🇸 🇮🇹 🇳🇱 🇯🇵 🇧🇷 🇨🇦 🇲🇽 🇦🇺 🇮🇳)