Deep Winter – by Sparkfur

Violence story: Deep Winter – by Sparkfur. Hello! This is my first story in a while! If you like, leave a comment below or shoot me a PM :). The wind was howling like it has lost a child, and the snow spun as though it has aspirations of one day being at the Cirque.

Violence story: Deep Winter – part 1

by Sparkfur

Genres: Fiction, Blowjob, Consensual Sex, Cum Swallowing, Male/Female, Oral Sex, Violence

The sun had only just set, but that was impossible to tell from the ominous grey-black of the sky. The white powder had formed hard ruts on the streets, dictating paths and turning cars into trains – and poorly manned at that. The temperature had long ago dropped below freezing, and yet people still could be found on the streets, wrapped in their parkas and mittens and toques. A city of people with no fear of the cold.
I couldn’t have been happier to not be one of them.

Sitting inside my small car stopped at a light, I was, if not toasty warm, at least no longer being harassed by that biting cold. The winter here is a dry one – the moisture freezes out of the air. With a mix of pity and schadenfreude, I watched the people huddled up inside a bus stop. At least this one has a shelter. Some are little more than posts with transit signs attached. I lived near one of those my whole life.

The light turns green, and I hit the clutch, and then the accelerator.

The cold, dark drive continued for another fifteen minutes before I got home. Pulling into my parking spot, I gathered my things, got out, locked the car – the key wouldn’t turn, the damn thing was frozen – and then hustle to the apartment building entrance. I forgot my gloves in the car. Fuck it. Shivering even though I was wrapped in a feather jacket, I punched my access code into the keypad. A quick click sounded, and I pulled the door open. The metal burned my fingers from the cold, and I practically ran inside. The blast of warm air hit me like a tidal wave.

“Oh thank god,” I breathed, sticking the reddened and pruned fingers in my mouth. The elevator beckoned me, but through sheer willpower I took the stairs. It’s only three flights, don’t be lazy. The third-floor hallway was the proud owner of a disgusting mauve carpet and the barest attempt at decorations along the walls. It was as though a Neanderthal had attempted to decorate the place. A Neanderthal, to clarify, with no sense of colour coordination.

The walls were a disgusting shade of green.

I stuck my key into the door handle of my apartment, 306, and then pushed the door open with my shoulder.

“Hey, Mitch, are you home?” I yelled as I put the few things I’d brought in with me down on the kitchen table. I heard a response from the living room informing me that my roommate was, in fact, present and alive. Beautiful. I grabbed a glass sitting on the counter – Jesus, we really need to do those dishes – and filled it with some water. Despite my dislike of cold in general, I filled it with cold tap water, because warm water is disgusting. Sipping at the source of all life, I made my way into the living room.

Mitch was sitting on the couch playing Overwatch on his laptop. He gave me an acknowledging jerk of his head, but otherwise was focused on gameplay. I grinned. Normally I’d load up my own copy and join him, but I had more important things to do. I slipped into my bedroom, closed the door, and lay down. I turned off the lights, and then loaded up Netflix on my laptop. A new season of my favourite show had just been released.

“Baby, it’s time for you and me time,” I whispered to my laptop, and then laughed at my own absurdity.

A couple of hours passed, and then I happened to see the clock on my computer. 12:13. I had to get up for class the next day, so I closed the laptop, shut my eyes, and let sleep slowly take me.

– *-*-*-

Pop.

“Oh fuck man, oh fuck, you shot him!”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll–”

I sat up straight in bed, in a cold sweat. Yelling was coming from outside of our apartment, down on the street level. Creeping over to the window and gently pulling the blinds apart, I identified the source of the sounds. Three men were out on the street under a streetlamp, dressed in black. One was lying on the ground, and the snow around him was a deep crimson red.

“Oh Jesus,” I whispered under my breath, and groped around in the dark for my cell phone. Luckily I found it easily, because I really didn’t want to turn on the light. I hurriedly called 911, and described the situation outside. I gave them my contact information for further inquiries. Suddenly a stroke of genius struck, or so I thought. The camera in my phone began to record, and I peered down at the two men – it looked like the one with the gun was threatening the other.

I need their faces.

Forget genius. This was idiotic. Leaving my phone on the windowsill recording them, I crept over to the light switch, and then started repeatedly flicking it on or off. This lasted about three seconds, and then I crawled back. The men were staring up at the window with confusion on their faces. Suddenly in the distance sirens wailed, and a look of fear crossed their faces. They bolted in different directions, leaving the third man to lie in the snow under the streetlamp. The snow looked significantly redder now.

A braver person than me would have gone out and checked on the person bleeding to death below me. I instead checked the video. Bingo. Their faces in clear view. The idiots hadn’t even worn scarves. Suddenly the sirens were very loud, and red and blue flashed through my window. I looked out the window, and saw a paramedic team loading the shot man into an ambulance. They didn’t seem too hurried, though, so I presumed he was probably already dead.

Suddenly the buzzer rang in the kitchen, near the door. I stumbled out of the room, and answered.
“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mr. Oliver Francis speaking?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Mr. Francis, my name is Officer Simmons. I was wondering if my partner and I could come in and speak with you. We understand that you were the one to call police.”

“Yes, of course,” I replied, and buzzed them in. A few minutes later, two cops in uniform were sitting at my kitchen table. They asked me the usual questions – what did I see, could I get a good look at the assailant, did I know them. Informing the police of my video, I returned to my room, got the phone, and showed it to them. They looked at one another, and then got me to transfer a copy over to them. Doing this quickly via Bluetooth, they then bid me goodnight. Looking at the clock, I saw that it was 5:00 am.

“Oliver? Who was that at the door?” a voice said behind me, and I turned to see Mitch standing in his doorway looking like someone had just dragged him out of hell backwards.

“Police. A guy got shot in the back alley, and I called 911.”

“And you didn’t wake me up?” Mitch replied, a note of hurt in his voice.

“Honestly,” I replied, sighing, “I’m shocked they didn’t wake you up.”

“I sleep like a bear,” Mitch laughed, and I joined him. I filled him in on the full story, but the clock drew my gaze back in. Grimacing, I said, “I’m gonna be a fuckin’ wreck in class tomorrow. It’s literally in three and a half hours.”

“Dude. Forget Quantum Mechanics. You literally just saw some guy get shot dead. I think you should just skip.”

“But—“

“No buts. We’re gonna hang out tomorrow and do some cool shit. Forget class.”

“What about yours?” I responded drily. “You gonna skip those too?”

“Oliver, let’s be real here. What the fuck am I ever going to need “Art and Culture of the Roman Empire” for? I’d rather get a couple of beers with you, my man.”

I let a smile cross my face, and nodded. Mitch went back to bed, and after a look out the window, I passed out as well. The red snow was already buried by the new fresh white falling gently from the sky, hiding the scene that had played out only a short time before. Yet the blood was still buried beneath the snow. It would prove an unpleasant surprise for some snowplow driver.

The next day passed quickly. Mitch and I hit up a couple of attractions around town, mostly in the Exchange and Osborne Village. Ironically, given the cold nature of what had happened the night before, the temperature had risen significantly, and it was almost pleasant to walk in the now lightly falling snow. As the day turned to night once more, we went to a popular bar in the Village. The lights were dim, and on some other day I might have been keeping an eye out for some girls to flirt with, but tonight I was just hanging out with my roommate. Honestly, I didn’t feel like I had the energy.

As Mitch and I each got a Keith’s IPA from the bar, a small cute Filipina girl slid up to the bar next to me. She ordered one of the specialty drinks (some special combo for the hockey game that night, which I was definitely not paying attention to), and then turned to look at me. When she spoke, there was almost a musical note to it.

“You boys look roughed up. Mind me asking what happened?”

I’m always down to talk to a pretty girl. Mitch, on the other hand, was a lot more interested in our admittedly pretty ripped bartender. Those tattoo sleeves looked pretty sick. I made eye contact with the girl and said, “I had a pretty hard night last night. Some guy got shot outside our apartment at like 5 am. Pretty goddamn traumatizing.”

“Holy shit,” she said, covering her mouth. “Is he alright?”

“I don’t think so,” I said forlornly. “I’m like… 99% sure he died.”

“Wow, that’s awful, I’m so sorry to hear that,” the girl said, and to my surprise it sounded like she really meant it. I gave her a small smile, took a sip from my beer, and then said, “It’s ok, I didn’t know the guy at all. Still kind of fucks you up though, y’know?”

She nodded, and I smiled. Then a thought occurred to me, and I remarked, “You know, I don’t think you mentioned you name.”

“I didn’t. My name is Jane.”

“Oliver. Nice to meet you Jane,” I responded, and we both smiled. We chatted for the next half hour or so. Mitch was in a surprisingly deep conversation with the bartender about the situation in Syria, which is pretty much the opposite of what you expect to hear at a bar. I seriously resisted making fun of him for being a geek, though frankly I’m not much better. I’m a physics major for christ’s sake.
I bought my new friend a drink, and eventually the conversation veered towards our love lives. Mine had been empty for about six months after a girlfriend cheated on me. She confided in me that it had been about a year for her. We were both a little tipsy, but not really inebriated at all. To be honest, the conversation was interesting me so much I was forgetting to drink most of the time.