Writing in Grey Joseph Schwartze UCCS Honors Program A Darker World The stories in this section look at the darker parts of our world. Fantasy is unnecessary to see depictions of true evil; it exists in day to day life. The mind does not have to warp itself in perverted defense mechanisms to see darkness in our average lives. These stories examine the consequences of the bad events in our world, from the lasting effects on a single person to the terrible choices some people are forced to make. We do not always know the darkness that surrounds us; only an unremarkable symbol might be the reminder. Other times, the darkness around us can be from our own choices, our own accomplishments, and we must live with that stink forever. These stories explore the grey in our world and how the black and white can mix into unfortunate realities. Choices in the Dark Clarissa took the shot, and she savored the burning sensation in her throat. She needed it, the pain. She needed the numbness that followed even more. Her eyes closed, and when she opened them, some 20-something college boy sat next to her. He was dressed like a preppy frat boy, with his khakis and a light blue polo shirt. She knew the drill. A pretty smile painted her features, and she leaned against the counter while she waited for him to say something. A quick adjustment and her dark red, revealing dress showed off more of her thighs and cleavage. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked confidently. “Straight to business, I like it,” she replied, “Please do.” The young man flagged down the bartender and asked for two more of, “whatever she’s drinking.” He looked back to her and smiled before introducing himself. “The name’s James, but you can call me whatever you’d like.” Clarissa smiled a too-nice smile, playing along, “Well, James, how’s a nice-lookin’ college kid like you end up in this dive bar?” Her words slurred, a sign of how many drinks she’d already had that night. James just kept on smiling. The grin was painted permanently on his lips, it seemed. He shrugged and replied after a moment, “Just looking to have a good time, find a nice woman. What’s a lady like you doing here?” Clarissa laughed; this boy had more confidence than some 40-year-old men at the top of their career. The drinks arrived, and she downed the shot while looking at him. She licked her lips slowly, and she finally replied, “A lady, huh? I like that. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll keep you around.” She winked at him and then told the bartender to keep them coming. James smiled, that perpetual shit-eating grin, and laid a few bills on the counter for the bartender. He downed his own shot, and tried to cover his reaction at how strong the drink was. “I guess you don’t mess around with your liquor, huh?” he spoke in a light-hearted tone. “I don’t fuck around with anything, James,” she whispered, leaning in closer to the young man. “Nothing, huh?” he replied, leaning in. “Nothing…” she sighed huskily, one of her hands landing on his knee. The new drinks arrived, and Clarissa extricated herself from James’s longing grasp to down the shot. The bartender was starting to water them down for her, as per the usual agreement; it made the drink burn less, and the needed numbness lacked as well. The young woman winked at him again, then turned to face the bar. He seemed at a loss, until she spoke again. “Nothing except my men, that is.” “Huh?” “I don’t fuck around with anything except my men, James. You get me?” “I think I got you.” “Actually, you don’t ‘got’ me yet, but you might soon,” her voice trailed off, taking on that seductive tone again. She bit her lip, partially to continue this image of temptress but also to sublimate the self-loathing she felt. He was buying into it so easily, and she hated it. “Oh, will I?” he asked after a slight pause, continuing the conversation. No doubt he was off balance by how forward she was. Usually he made the moves, at least she supposed. Clarissa looked at him sideways and gave a curt nod. That could’ve been done better, she voiced in her head, but she still didn’t want to do this anymore. Better to get it over with, she thought, turning on the barstool to face James again. “Yes, you will, and I think I’m done here. Let’s go somewhere,” her voice was sultry, suggestive, and provocative. Even the most naïve and inexperienced young man could recognize her tone. James nodded, and he took her hand. The young man suddenly seemed in a great rush as he threw more bills, notably much more than the barkeep needed for the drinks, on the counter. In a moment they were out of the bar and on the street, and then Clarissa pressed herself against James. One arm around his back and a hand on his chest, she trapped him in her grasp. As they walked, Clarissa kept careful track of their location. A right turn onto 6th Avenue, heading toward Central Park. Perfect, she didn’t even have to redirect him to the right location. They walked along, and as they did she felt his hands openly exploring her body. Even walking openly on the street, the boy kept making moves. She held off a laugh at how impatient he was, but she figured she could use it to her advantage. She could use it, even if she hated it. In a swift movement she brought her hand up to her chest and pressed a button concealed in the strap of her bra. A quick and rhythmic buzzing sensation told her the tracking device was activated, and she scowled bitterly. Clarissa didn’t want to do this. No part of her wanted this. But this was better than her alternative. Five minutes, and then this was over. Clarissa had to take care of it all quickly. She stopped on a corner of some street, and looked down the intersecting avenue. Mostly empty, with only a handful of people minding their own business. Alleys would be empty, she knew. “You good?” James asked innocently but also with a tone of worry. Putting on a pretty face, Clarissa turned to him and replied, “I can’t wait. Come on…” She dragged him down the side street hurriedly, eyes scanning wildly to find a suitable place to stop. He just followed along blindly, eagerly. She expected no more and no less. They strutted past one alley, and then Clarissa stopped and looked back. She pulled James into a kiss, and as he was distracted she scanned the area. No one around. Good. Retracting from the kiss, Clarissa made eye contact with James and smirked. “Come on…” she whispered, pulling him to the alley behind them. She walked quickly, stumbling once and letting him catch her. Down the alley and out of sight from the street, she pushed him into the wall and came onto him. Her hands slipped under his jacket and then his shirt, exploring the hot skin of his chest. Their lips met again, and Clarissa did not hold back this time. She felt herself falling into his lust, her body reacting as his hands gripped the edges of her dress. Clarissa rolled along the wall, shifting them so that James was holding her up against the wall. James did his job then. His confidence returned, and Clarissa let him make his moves. He lifted her up against the wall, and she wrapped her legs around him. The young man groped at her breasts as he grinded against her. His kisses moved from her lips, trailing along her jaw and then her collarbone. He left marks of his lust on her skin; remnant signs of his desire. “Come on…” she whispered again, pulling him by his collar to match his lips again. Guilt and pleasure flooded her body, and the cognitive dissonance ravaged her consciousness. She dissolved into the pleasure, pushing out the negative realities of her actions; for a moment, this could seem real, feel real—be real. Then the device attached to her bra buzzed again, and James noticed. “What was–” he began, and then he turned as a truck drove into the alley. Another pulled in from the other end of the alley, cutting off the exits. James dropped Clarissa to the ground, backing up a few steps with confusion and fear in his eyes. “What the fuck? What the fuck is this!?” Clarissa moved as fast as she could to the closer vehicle, and as she did armed men burst out of the back. They surrounded James, pinned him to the ground, and handcuffed him. He shouted, screaming about how it was Clarissa’s fault and that these cops were fucked when his father’s lawyer got ahold of them. One of the men finally punched him in the jaw, which shut him up. The attacker yelled into James's face, “We’re not police, dipshit.” Clarissa kept her gaze down as they gagged James and dragged him into the vehicle. She looked up one last time, at the exact moment to make eye contact. She mouthed, “I’m so sorry.” But he only looked confused and terrified. As they loaded him into the vehicle, Clarissa saw three other captured men already in the back.