Seven Deadly Toppings by David Milner
from Seven Deadly Sins: a PUNK NOIR Magazine series
“When you are ready, Ivan.” Said Detective Inspector Rice to the young man.
“It was midnight she was in a shop doorway, arms folded staring at the rain. Blonde hair in the cornrow style. Went with anyone – Kurds, Somalis – people said. I only wanted what she was willing. Bought pizza all seven toppings half price that night. Back at my flat put the heating on so she could have a hot bath.
She was small all over. Older than she looked. Knew what she was doing.
Should have fucked before I handed over the cash. No. Sorry. Before the Spice. I didn’t know that poison. Thought it was normal smoke. Things turned to shit so fast like a heart attack. She’s laughing. Laughing in my face.
I slapped her, stuffed pizza in her mouth. She’s too much noise and bony knees. Pushes her thumb right in my eyeball and it’s fucking thick with dirt under the nail. I hit her then. Hit her. Blood tomatoes sweetcorn salami fucking face. And it’s like my hands weren’t my own that I put around her neck.
Beautiful she was. Honest to God.
Was she called Lisa?”
Confession signed at 11:07 AM (as recorded).
This story appears as part of Seven Deadly Sins, a PUNK NOIR Magazine series, originally published July 2025.
Bio
David Milner’s stories have appeared in print and online at Duality Books, Spillwords Press, Impspired Magazine. His plays include, I’m Still Here, performed live on Resonance 104.4FM Radio, and Shinwell: An Extra Break For Breakfast, published by Impspired Books.
He adapted and directed his story, Into the Breach, as a short film for the Rise of The Resistance festival, screened at Bloomsbury Theatre and Wellcome Collection.
A founder member of the punk band Vee V V (Edils Records), David finds his stories when he’s out and about, or they find him. He lives in South London.
PUNK NOIR, the online literary and arts magazine that looks at the world at its most askew, casting a bloodshot eye over the written word, film, music, television and more.
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