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RFT: Taste Death

A Claymont, Delaware couple have a discourse at a train station in late spring 1987.

By Skyler SaundersPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 4 min read
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RFT: Taste Death
Photo by C D-X on Unsplash

The gun cocked. Jamara aimed it straight at Cole Exton’s chest. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead, and dripped down his neck, saturating his shirt collar. He tried to slow his breathing to calm himself.

“Look, I like you and I love you, Jam’,” Exton said. “Just hide the pistol and we’ll be on our way out of Clayton. We can go anywhere!”

“It’s too late for all of that. You crossed me, Cole.” Tears rolled down her face.

“I didn’t want it to be this way at all. We could’ve just been a happy couple. You didn’t want that. You wanted to add bitches into the mix. I can’t let that go,” Jamara John’s hands wavered slightly but her aim remained true. She steadied the pistol and kept her composure throughout her speech.

“I know I’ve done wrong.” Cole pleaded, desperately to change her mind.

“I can’t make up for the things I’ve done. I wasn’t trying to hurt—”

“Bullshit, Cole.”

He took a deep breath, as if it would add to the persuasiveness of what he was about to say. “Listen to me. I’m not the man my father was. He was kind and did right by my mother. I know I've strayed from that, but if you just lay down the gun—”

“That’s not going to happen. What’s wrong with me? Why did you have to mess around with those Philly broads anyway? You could have stayed here in Delaware. You should have been with me. No, you had to go out gallivanting and raising hell up in those streets.,”

She wiped away a tear, but kept her weapon steady stayed on her target.

“I’m not a bad man,” Exton said, half whispering at this point, and sounding almost sincere.

“I could fertilize most of Sussex County with your lies,” Jamara chuckled, a bit while tasting the saltiness of her tears.

“Jam’, this looks bad right now.”

“It is bad, goddamnit!”

“Okay. Okay it is. I can make it up to you. I'll buy us a house. We can get married and have a mess of kids.,”

Exton was grasping at straws.

“That sounds really cute, but it’s not going to work on Jamara. Jamara is well past that point of being pissed off,” she said. Her sudden switch to speaking in the third person unsettled Exton even more. As his heart thundered in his chest, he tried to focus on some way to abate Jamara’s rage.

“I’m serious. You and I can start all over down state. It could be a dream. All we have to do is be honest with each other. Clean slate,” Exton replied.

The pistol never fell. Jamara kept it pointed at Exton’s chest, as stiff as if she had something solid propping up her arms.

“No. This is it. Right here. Right now. We can only take note of the present. The past doesn’t mean shit. We have no future. All we have is you and I, this car, and Mrs. .45 caliber. So whatever it is that has you thinking you’ll get out of this has you fooled!”

“They’ll catch you,” Exton said.

“Maybe, but I doubt it. I was never seen in public with you. We made sure of that, remember?”

Exton nodded slowly. “Of course. We kept this whole affair under wraps, and for what? For you to just kill me, and end our beautiful relationship?”

“‘beautiful’?! Negro, please. This isn’t beautiful. This is a sham. All you have to do now is taste death.” At that moment, in an empty parking lot, at two o’clock in the morning, with trains passing like ghosts in the night, Jamara sent a straight shot to Exton’s chest. It was a direct hit to his heart and she quickly wiped the gun off on his hands. She sobbed uncontrollably, and then pulled herself together. She opened the door immediately and walked in the direction of the station. She went to the bathroom and checked her reflection in the mirror, then washed her face with cool water and applied fresh makeup. Finally, she bought a ticket for Wilmington. Fortunately no one noticed the traces of gunpowder still on her clothes.

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