“U.S. Marshalls gunned down the poet turned America’s most wanted in this very bar.” The tour guide knocked on the wood of the pool table. “Some say his ghost still lingers.”
GG squeezed Rick’s hand. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her closer, kissed her right temple. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” he whispered.
“Why were they chasing him?” one of the tourists asked.
“Kidnapping and rape,” the tour guide answered. “She was only thirteen.”
“I heard he married her.” Rick lifted GG’s chin, winked at her.
“That’s disgusting,” a woman standing behind him spat out.
“Edgar Allen Poe married his thirteen-year-old cousin. Was madly in love with her.” Rick bent down, kissed the top of GG’s ear. She purred under his touch, turned her head to the side, extending her neck.
“Poe was a creep too,” the woman muttered.
Rick dug his nails into GG’s hip, leaving pale crescent moons in her skin.
“Apologies.” He took her hand, guided her to the back of the bar where they disappeared.
word count: 175
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 75-175 using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to read other stories inspired by the photo and add your own.