Alamo Sunrise (short fiction)
Alamo Sunrise
by Rajah Dodger {rdodger@hotmail.com} (c) 2010
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa). In jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights reserved to Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.
The third-floor room smelled of sex, sweat and beer. I rolled off Rosa and stared at the leak-stained ceiling. There was some reason I wanted to be awake this morning, but it wasn't coming to me. My bladder was pressing, so I went to the bathroom, pausing to pull the sheet up over Rosa's breasts.
Noises from outside reminded me as I flushed. It was March 6, and down in the San Antonio morning mist people would be gathering in front of the Alamo, remembering the day when Santa Anna finally overran the revolutionaries. I washed my hands and walked back through the room, pulling a chair over to the open window and looking out. The sounds from across the street were muffled, figures moving around quietly. Maybe a third were dressed in period costumes, the rest looked to be friends, other Texas history buffs, and a smattering of bemused tourists in the middle of a morning walk.
In theory this ceremony honored the memory both of the Texans who died to the last man and the larger number of Mexican soldiers who were killed in the battle. It sounded like political correctness to me, probably mandated by the increasing Hispanic population in Texas. If they weren't careful, the state would wind up part of Mexico again.
Rosa came up from behind me, teased her fingernails down my chest and curled one sinuous hand around my cock. I pushed her away; it seemed disrespectful somehow. Down in the street, people were lining up in different areas, a group was preparing wreaths and large mounted posters, a few children dodged in and out of the crowd looking for better vantage points. A command barked out and a group of shabby-looking types carrying rifles started marching toward the parade ground.
The explosion that rocked me came from the tequila bottle that Rosa slammed into the side of my head. "Pendejo! What kind of man are you to ignore me for dead soldatos and fake ones at that?" I couldn't reply; I was too busy clutching my head and rolling on the floor. Rosa landed on top of me, straddling my hips and grinding her slick cunt across my cock. "No man ever pushes me away!"
My cock pulsed when she slid across the crown. "See, your body knows what's important!" I writhed on the floor, my brain throbbing behind blurred eyes, and Rosa slipped me inside her, gripping with practiced muscles. I couldn't stop myself from reacting. Rifle shots echoed through the window; Rosa's nails slashed furrows into my shoulders, her nipples waved and my own shots followed before my abused brain shut down.
Slowly the ceiling came into focus. Rosa was gone, brakes and car horns replaced the morning hush, and sunlight shone painfully across my sticky body. I climbed to my knees and looked outside. Only the posters newly mounted on the parade ground remained as testimony to the past. My head throbbed. Down on the sidewalks, street vendors and tourists mixed. Maybe next year I'd catch the whole ceremony, but now there was money to be made. Tonight, if things went well, Rosa and I could eat in a real restaurant. And afterward, we'd have our own armed conflict.
/ END /
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