256 Bim/Wilford
I could write an essay on what type of monster Bim is when he’s with Dark versus the type of monster he is with Wilford.
Ahead: blood, death, gun violence, implied CannaBim
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Prompt 256: “Wake up! Please, please wake up!”
   One bullet, one bang! of his gun, and the contestant crumpled to the ground like the wimp he was.
   Can’t take a simple, goddamn bullet. Wilford huffed, disappointed. But nonetheless he pasted on his game-show smile and approached the surviving contestant. “Looks like you win, my friend!”
   The contestant didn’t seem interested. She cowered behind her podium and burst into hysterical sobs, clutching at the front of her sweater, the white of which was now splattered with vivid dots of blood.
   “Wake up! Please, please, wake up!” She wailed.
   “Now, now, calm down,” Wilford said easily. “He’ll be up and about in no time at all!”
   “You’re a monster!” The contestant’s voice only rose as she sunk to the ground, burying her head in her hands.
   “Whoooaaaa! There’s no need for that type of language. Look.” Wilford tucked his gun into his waistband. “If you’re so worried about it, I won’t shootcha. Scaredy-pants. You should be excited! You won!”
   He snapped his fingers and a microphone appeared in his hand. He held it to his mouth and turned to the “audience,” which consisted of no more than empty rows of chairs. “And thiiisssssss is your prize! Bim?”
   He gestured over to stage left and right on cue, Bim came sauntering out from behind the pink curtain, waving and blowing kisses to the audience’s programmed applause. He wore a bold grin as he came over and draped his arms around Wilford’s neck, leaning in for a kiss. “Mmm. Yes, Wilford?”
   “Show the lovely lady her prize?” It came out as a half-moaned, half-muffled garble.
   Bim sighed dramatically and pulled away, unhooking one of his arms from around Wilford’s neck so he could pluck the microphone from the pink ego’s hands, giving it a flourish over to stage right, where a stage-light flicked on to illuminate a pedestal, upon which sat a scrap of paper that had obviously been cut out of a magazine. “Ta-da! Your prize today is a half-off-your-order coupon to Starbucks!”
   As soon as the words left his lips he was turning back to Wilford, kissing him fiercely.
   When they finally did break away he grinned. “The bodies are mine, right?”
   “Of course, darling.” Wilford purred, ushering him back toward stage left. “I’ll just finish up here, and then I’ll be along.”
   “Love you, dear!” Bim waved at him, then at the “audience”- who gave him another thunderous round of applause- before disappearing again behind the curtain.
   Wilford smiled wistfully before turning to glance at his contestant, who had crept out from behind her podium and was attempting to reach the door.
   “Isn’t he just an angel?” He sighed as he pulled his gun from his waistband and shot her in the head.
