A Day Without The Killing Jar (First Draft)

She whispered I love you with lips that had sucked a thousand cocks. She was a middle aged harlot and had been around the block more than a few times but had somehow retained a certain sense of romance. So much of her had been broken by rough penetration and verbal put downs yet there was still a place in her heart that could help her say I love you and mean it.
As the years of her youth had gone by she had held on to those three words. Saving them for better times in a nicer part of life. A secret that she held tight along with the promise that the day they slipped from her lips she would have made it out of hell.
Hell, however, has it’s ways and as the flesh aged the words slipped out in a moment of desperation and reached the ears of a fallen angel with a taste for all that is broken.
Upon hearing the words he went limp and she felt the weight of his body and woe as he gurgled: “I am so, so, sorry!”
She felt his tears mingle with sweat and the fumes of alcohol. A hot and cold sensation running from her cheek to her ear as she lay there longing to be safe and forget everything she had ever experienced.

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