Little Big Words From The Weeman

The Vicar And The Redhead

          The table was immaculately laid, the best bone china used, everything precisely in place.  Rae surveyed her preparations with satisfaction; she’d managed to impress even herself.  It had taken her a few good weeks to get everything to his exacting specifications.  She was determined to impress.

          Having the Vicar round for tea was after all, no small event.  It meant acceptance, entrance into the community was then a mere formality.  She would have arrived.

          It was all a far cry from the small town that she’d come from, with its small town views, small town goals and small town boys.  But all that was behind her, that was the old Rae, now she was on the verge of completing the final stages of transforming into the bright new shiny Rae.  And she liked it, she was excited.

          The smell of what was cooking in the kitchen heightened her excitement even further.  She could feel her mouth staring to water, her lips smacking in anticipation.  Her hand shook slightly as she wiped at the corner of her mouth with her middle finger and thumb.

          Her eyes opened wide with horror, a slight chip in the otherwise perfect crimson nail.  Her heart started to race, her skin started to pink up, she had to stay calm, this could easily be fixed.  Her head felt dizzy, she tried to control her breathing, as a minor panic attack rose within.

          In through the nose, out through the mouth.

          In through the nose, out through the mouth.

          Her breathing gradually calmed, eyes scanned the room until she spied her makeup bag.  After a brief rummage she found what she needed.  Breathing under control and with a deft hand she reapplied perfection, each finger now gleaming as if finished off by a flawless ruby.

          Rae allowed a slight smile to cross her face, a small reward to herself, but she couldn’t allow herself to get carried away, the Vicar would spot the slightest error, the tinniest of flaws.

          The table settings appeared up to standard, she momentarily glanced towards the cupboard, its door firmly closed, but she knew without even checking that what lay behind that door was second to none, and would impress even the dullest of minds.

          The clock on the wall informed her that there was just over two hours until his arrival.  It would be tight, but there should be just enough time for her to get ready.

          The red dress already lay out on her bed.  She’d agonised long and hard over it.  The dress itself, she had to admit, was divine, but it was the colour that had caused all the problems.  Was red the right colour?  Did it send out the right signals?  But then she’d tried it on and all doubt was dispelled, she knew instantly it was the one.

          A tingle went down her spine as she put the dress on, its shape hugging her shape like a second skin, making her feel powerful, making her feel that anything was possible.  She smiled to herself as she gazed upon her statuesque reflection in the bedroom mirror, her hands smoothing out miniscule creases that only she could see.

          The Vicar wouldn’t know what had hit him.

          Rae’s smile broadened.

          Her hair and makeup were already meticulously prepared; it was part of her very own religion, something that she would never face the world without.  Her hair was in the style of a Mary Quant bob, but dark red, matching her eyeshadow, which she’d layered in carefully lightening shades, almost giving the effect of a flickering flame.  Her naturally palish skin was darkened by an old rouge, which had been handed down by her mother like an old family secret.  In fact it was possibly the greatest gift she’d ever received from anybody.

          The thought of her mother made her smile falter, but she quickly banished the dark thoughts, nothing would be allowed to spoil this day of all days.

          The smells from the kitchen clamoured for her attention, forcing her to reluctantly pull herself away from the mirror.

          In the kitchen steam poured out of various pots and pans, some things gurgled, others bubbled.  She took the pinnie down from the hook behind the kitchen door.  Slipping it carefully over her head and tying it tightly round her waist.  The last thing she wanted to do was let anything spill onto her fabulous dress.

          Rae looked quite the domestic goddess with the white frilled pinnie on, scuttling from pot to pan, tasting, stirring, mixing, until eventually her plan came together and the meal took shape.  There were a few little extras she’d have to prepare at the time, but she was happy that she was more or less ready for him.

          The clock ticked ever closer to the moment as she scurried about the place putting the finishing touches to things, moving the odd ornament by the tinniest of fractions.

          The doorbell chimed.

          Her heart froze.

          Was he early?

          Was she late?

          She could feel a panic start to rise, her hands shook, her head felt dizzy.  Her reflection looked reassuringly back at her.

          Now or never.

          She took a deep breath and headed to the door.

          His outline could be seen through the coloured glass at the top of the door.  Somehow it managed to cast a spell over her, the nerves seemed to vanish almost instantly, her hand stopped shaking as she reached for the door.

          “Ah Rae.”  His voice was like chocolate, all calm and soothing.  He was shorter than her, a thin wiry frame; his hair slicked back forming a dramatic widow’s peak.  His skin was pale and his large brown eyes almost bulged out of his head.  There was a very thin pencil moustache, which perched above his top lip, giving him an almost sinister air.

          “Welcome Vicar.”  Rae stepped aside allowing him to enter.

          “What a delightful little place you have here.”  His eyes scanned his surroundings.

          “Why thank you.”  She fought the urge to bow or curtsey “Please go through.”

          “I hope you’ve not gone to any trouble, just for little me.”

          “Just make yourself at home.”  She knew those eyes were assessing, calculating and taking every little detail in.

          He walked with his hands cupped behind his back, a slow confident saunter.  Rae followed just behind, her heart in her mouth, eyes flickering towards the cupboard door as she pondered when it would be a good idea to reveal what lay behind; her timing would have to be perfect.

          “Are you nervous?”  His soft voice cut like a knife through her thoughts.

          “Just a little.”  A slight nervous laugh escaped.

          “Don’t be, I won’t bite.”  A wicked glint flashed in his eyes.

          Somehow his reassurances had the opposite effect, she could feel her heart race, and knew without even looking that her skin was pinking up, if she wasn’t careful she could find herself matching her dress.

          His eyes scanned the room, taking everything in, and then settled on her.  Almost imperceptibly his head moved up and down, scanning her far more thoroughly.

          Rae wondered if the dress was working its magic?

          Had she chosen wisely?

          By the look on his face she could tell that the answer to both questions was yes.

          Did his eyes bulge a little further out of his head?

          She allowed herself a little smile.

          “Something amuses you?”

          “No, I was…”  Her blush grew.

          “I’m only kidding, like I said, I won’t bite.”  His smile flashed his teeth, thin long narrow ones; it looked as if his mouth was crammed with them.

          Another thing to make her nervous.

          “I better check on the food.”  She excused herself and made for the sanctuary of the kitchen.  She leaned on the kitchen units, her heart racing, breath rapid; she hung her head and tried to control herself.

          “It’s just the Vicar.”  She told herself, but it didn’t seem to do any good, there was so much riding on this.

          Rae tried to loose herself in the plating up of the food, but it didn’t work, all she could do was think of him going through her things.  She tried to block it out, but the images came through even stronger.  She tried desperately to remember if she’d left out anything embarrassing.  But her preparations had been meticulous.

          Then it flashed into her head.

          Had she locked the cupboard?

          She couldn’t remember.

          It could all go wrong if he discovered what lay behind the cupboard door at the wrong time, it had to be perfectly timed.

          Rae could hold back no more, she had to look.

          His hand hovered just above the handle on the cupboard door.

          “Things won’t be long.”  Rae blurted.

          He span round, an almost guilty look on his face, a slight pinking to his skin, moustache twitching.

          “Just a little delay on the starter.”  She lied “Hope you don’t mind.”

          “I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait.”  His voice was smooth, almost disarming.  Rae could see why people could be ensnared by him, why he had such power, why it wouldn’t take much and she too would be under his spell.

          A little girly laugh escaped, which she cursed herself for.  She was sure that if he could’ve he would’ve twiddled his moustache.

          As he turned his back she managed to surreptitiously check the cupboard door, much to her relief it was locked.

          “Put on some music, things will just be a mo.”  She smiled her best smile and headed back to the kitchen.

          Things in the kitchen were so much calmer, her heart stopped beating ten to the dozen, her skin no longer had its pinkie hue.  He was no longer a distraction.  The plating of the starter was simplicity in itself, a straightforward goat’s cheese salad; it took her a matter of moments to prepare.

          She smoothed out some imaginary creases on her beautiful red dress and with a deep breath took the starters through.

          The music that was playing was an unusual choice, some electro synthetic beat that she hadn’t heard in a long time, a very long time.  The artists name escaped her, but it seemed to be triggering some long forgotten memories.  She could see a smile, pale blue eyes and a flash of red.  Rae wondered where the half formed images in her head were coming from.

          “That looks delicious.”  His soft voice broke through the images.

          Another girly laugh escaped, again she cursed herself.  How did he do that?  A few simple words and she was completely disarmed.

          He remained standing for fractionally longer as they both took their places at the immaculately laid table.  Rae stared down at her plate, unsure what to say next.

          “How did you know about my weakness for cheese?”

          “I did a bit of research.”

          He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

          “Oh, I only found out good things.”

          It was his turn to let a nervous laugh escape.

          Rea suddenly found herself filled with power; her entire body seemed to buzz with it, as if for the first time ever she was alive.  She liked the feeling.

          He distracted himself by diving into the salad, plunging a massive forkful into his mouth.  She watched him as she took a dainty portion.

          “Oh my!”  His eyes opened wide.

          “You like?”

          “What is that?”

          “It’s a little speciality of mine, something I picked up on my travels.”

          His eyes widened as he tried another mouthful.

          “Chocolate balsamic, adds a little sweetness to the mix don’t you think?”

          He was unable to reply, his mouth full, she had him.

          A perfectly painted fingernail dabbed at the corners of her mouth, her hand hid her smile.  It wouldn’t be long before she had him in just the right place.

          His large brown eyes seemed to jump and dance inside his head, as his senses were bombarded by conflicting information.

          “That was a revelation.”  He finally managed to express the sensations.

          “That was just for starters.”  She smiled coyly, using everything in her power to get under his skin.

          Almost imperceptibly he swallowed, his fingers gently stroking the edge of his dog collar, his eyes for once not locked on her, his power momentarily flickering.

          “You intrigue me.”  He tried to regain control.

          “In what way?”

          “Your contradictions.”

          Rae raised an eyebrow, her knuckles whitened as she clenched her fork, her jaw tightening.

          “I’m having difficulties working you out.  Most people, I have them sussed inside a minute, but you, you’re far more intriguing than average.”

          “Well at least I’m not average.”

          “Far from it.”

          An awkward silence settled.

          “So about these contradictions?”

          “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

          “No, you’ve got me intrigued now.”

          “I’ve upset you.”  He sat back; control was slipping back towards him.

          “You haven’t, but you will if you don’t tell me.”  She threatened him behind her winning smile.

          “That’s one of them.”

          “Sorry?”

          “You appear the perfect little lady, demure, well presented, but then the words you use.  They’re all calculated for effect.  Nothing you’ve done has been effortless; it’s all been meticulously and methodically planned.  It’s all about control.”

          Rae tried to feel upset, tried to muster the energy to rebuke him, but she knew that he was right.  Was she really that easy?  Was this just a test?

          “Anything else?”  She managed to gather herself.

          “I think I’ve said enough.”  He knew he’d scored a hit.

          Rae examined him, stared hard, but his large brown eyes were blank.  She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he would do next.  He gave absolutely nothing away, nothing she could use.

          “You said I had others?”

          “I should save them for later.”

          Rae’s jaw clenched as she rose and gathered up the plates.  She knew his eyes were following her, she knew he was laughing inside, she knew she’d let herself down by letting him get the upper hand.

          It was with relief that she turned into the kitchen, she was glad she’d played it safe with the main, as her hands shook with anger as she plated up the garlic chicken and tried to make the presentation of the vegetables look attractive.  Her breathing was erratic, her face flushed, she was supposed to be in control.

          She cursed herself as one of the baby radishes refused to go where it was placed.  Frustration got the better of her and she hurled the poor radish across the kitchen, it landed somewhere near the old 1950’s fridge, probably to lay in wait and build an army of bacteria that would attack her sometime soon.

          She slowed her breathing as she lifted one final pot off the cooker and poured its contents onto the corner of each plate, a light almost golden cheese sauce.

           What sneer would he have?

          What look?

          An upturned nose or a twitch of his moustache?

          Her jaw clenched again as she lifted both plates and carried them back through.

          His face was impassive, he might as well have been I a trance, as the plate was put in front of him, eyes staring straight ahead, completely blank, giving nothing away.

          She coughed lightly as she sat.

          No response.

          Eyes fixed straight ahead.

          She waved a hand in front of those eyes.

          Nothing.

          His chest still rose and fell slightly, so he was still breathing.  Rae stood and moved next to him.

          Eyes kept staring.

          Rae looked hard, tried to work out if this was another test.  Then without even thinking she swung hard, slapping him full across the face.

          Eyes suddenly sparkled,

          Her hand stung.

          His winning smile was aimed only for her.

          “Let’s forget dinner.”  His voice was disarming, his smile charming.

          “But I…”

          “Forget it.”  He rose, jacket masterfully shrugged from his shoulders.

          “There’s still dessert.”  She couldn’t take her eyes off him, off his dog collar “its cheesecake.”

          He laughed a boyishly wicked laugh.

          Was this all part of the test?  Her mind raced, control was lost, everything she’d planned crumbled before her.

          He moved towards her.

          She couldn’t move.

          His eyes burned brightly.

          She could feel his breath on her cheek.

          “Show me what’s in the cupboard.”  His voice was a breathless whisper.

          She thought she’d hidden it so well, kept the reveal until the perfect moment.  But he’d been watching, taking everything in, formulating his own plan.

          “See I’ve done my research too.”  He was only inches from her, his breath washing over her; she could smell the goat’s cheese.

          How did he know?

          How could he know?

          Who had she told?

          Was he still bluffing?

          “Let me see, show me.”  His voice almost pleaded.

          Control had switched again; she could turn this to her advantage.

          Rae stood ramrod straight, her confidence and power renewed.  He was only inches away, but he could come no closer, her force kept him at bay.  Their fixed stare was broken by him, as he glanced towards the cupboard.

          “That cupboard?”  Rae’s voice was calm and nonchalant when she finally spoke.

          He glanced back at her; his eyes had lost their strength.

          She had absolute power.

          Inside she was laughing, but she had to keep it from him.  After all the stories, she’d thought he would have put up more of a fight, been more of a challenge.  Wherever the rumours had come from they had done her a favour, building up his anticipation while weakening his resolve.

          The Vicar’s eyes seemed to almost plead with her, unable to stop flicking back to the cupboard.

          Rea gently played with the silver chain that hung round her neck, her fingers wrapped round the links revealing a small key from her cleavage.

          The Vicar’s eyes grew wide, almost exploding from his head.

          Rae allowed herself a smile.

          His breath was rapid, his face no longer pale as Rae moved towards the cupboard door.  She lifted the chain over her neck, it caught slightly in her hair pulling the red locks up and creating a tingle down her spine as they fell back into place.  Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she put the key into the lock, it turned with a click.

          The cupboard was dark as she pulled open the door, she could feel the Vicar straining at her shoulder to see what was contained within.

          There was a short gasp from behind her as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and he saw what lay before him.

          It was a small box room, with no distinguishing features decorating the jet black walls, but dominating the space was a large crucifix with bright silver chains adorning the sides.

          The Vicar pushed passed Rae and stared in awe, eyes bulging, breath stopped.  He turned back to look at Rae, his face filled with unbridled ecstasy.

          Rae smiled.

          She strode forward and took his hand, led him to the cross and fastened one of his wrists into the leather cuff.

          A small whimper escaped him, but it wasn’t a whimper of protest.

          There was no resistance from him as she took his other wrist and bound it in the same fashion.  His face looked blissful as he hung, his dog collar shining bright in the gloom.

          Rae looked down at herself and smoothed away some imaginary wrinkles on her dress.  Her breath was slow and calm, but the Vicar’s was in short rapid blasts.  His face was flushed, his eyes bulging and the thin pencil moustache quivered slightly.  Another ecstatic whimper escaped his lips.

          Rae thought about leaving him, shutting the door and locking him away.  But where would be the fun in that?

          Her hand reached forward, fingers grasping for the dog collar.

          “Leave it on.”  His voice came out as a breathy hiss.

          She slapped him card across the face, leaving an outline of her fingers behind.

          He smiled back at her.

          It wasn’t anger that welled up inside her, not even frustration; it was something far more complex, far more passionate.  She swung hard across his face again, globules of blood spitting out of his mouth, the smile even broader.

          Was this acceptance?

          Was this what she craved?

          A dribble of blood soaked into the shining white dog collar.

 

 

 

The End ?

The Middle Class Zombie

     I wish I could remember.

     In fact I wish I could do lots of things, but it’s the memories I miss the most. I mean, I think I had a family, before everything happened. I have vague recollections of something, but I’m not sure anymore if they’re my memories, or something I’ve made up.

     I can’t even tell you my name, or where I live, or whether I’m alive.

     You see, I’m what most people would call a zombie. Technically I’m undead.

     I’m not rotting, I’m not dying, but I’m not really living.

     See I’m new to all this.

     Maybe I’ve got all that to look forward to, or not as the case maybe.

     I wish I could tell you about myself, but like a said before it’s the memory. Nothing past about twenty minutes ago, just the occasional flash, like a broken video, but I don’t even know if they are real.

     I’ll tell you very quickly about what happened, before I forget.

     There was a virus, a bug. Spread like wildfire. Almost all of us got it. And that, to be honest, is all I know. There are many of us, most in a worse state than me, but all of us need one thing to survive. Human flesh.

     Horrible I know, you wouldn’t last long in this game if you were a vegetarian, and to be honest vegetarians don’t taste very nice, too stringy, a lack of iron or something.

     I’ll tell you, you wouldn’t invite a group of zombies round for a dinner party, far too messy.

     I try and keep myself to myself; the older zombies aren’t much into conversation, just the odd grunt and occasional moan. But everything changes when it gets dark, that’s when the hunt begins, when the flesh lust rises.

     When I first became ill I tried to resist the urge for flesh, but there’s only so many times that the neighbour’s cat will suffice.

     I can remember my first kill, something that doesn’t leave me, no matter how hard I try. It was a hoodie. Young lad started stealing things, made me so mad. That’s when I lost it, started chasing him. Didn’t even know what I was going to do with him when I caught him. But eventually I got him cornered, some dead end alleyway behind the warehouses on the industrial estate.

     So there I was facing down this thug, staring eye to eye. Then he came at me, arms flailing. Before I knew what had happened, I’d blocked the blow, grabbed his arm and twisted it. There was a crunch. He screamed like a girl. Hit me with his free arm, but pain doesn’t register anymore. Then I knocked him to the floor.

     Next thing next thing I know I’m biting into his thigh and tearing lumps of flesh out! Nobody was more surprised than me! I don’t even like steak, chicken I can cope with, but… anyway those choices seem to have been in another world, another lifetime.

     I don’t even know who I am anymore.

     Others seem to hunt in packs, but that’s not for me. Like I said, their conversation is not up to much, and as for their personal hygiene, it’s like being around a bunch of hormonal teenagers.

     I saw this one the other day peel off a layer of skin from his own arm, and then eat it.

     Where’s the manners in that?

     I sound like such a snob.

     I can’t be around normal people anymore, something to do with the fact that I scare them. I didn’t ask to be a zombie, it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. I’ll never get to see the inside of the golf course clubhouse again. Is that not punishment enough?

     I’ve got a good mind to go down there and ransack the place, see their faces then.

     According to the news we’re a plague on society, a drain on resources, or as some extreme politicians keep delighting in saying, that we should be exterminated. I kid you now. They actually used the word exterminate. Some of the greatest minds ever known are now zombies, that’s why only the dross are left, the ones who used to be tin pot councillors, but are now high flying politicians. I’d love to get my hands on them. Mind you, they probably wouldn’t taste very nice either, worse than a vegetarian.

     I’ve heard on the rumour mill, that there are plans afoot to round us up. Heard us like cattle, probably for purposes of extermination. They’d have to catch us first. We won’t take it lightly, there’s too many of us now. I’m sure normal people are now in the minority. But we don’t have any rights. Talk about second class citizens, we could get gunned down in the street and nothing would happen, it’s not even considered a crime.

     We were human once.

     People seem to forget that. I, personally, blame all the movie propaganda. Always portraying zombies as the bad guys. Well there is the eating human flesh thing, which I agree is rather anti social.  But why not give us your criminals, the social outcasts? You wouldn’t have to worry about prisons, or prison overcrowding. We’d take care of that for you. It’d be a win win. Society would get rid of its ne’er do wells, and zombies would be fed, and you never know, maybe even pacified. But who’d listen to me? I am, after all, only a zombie, and I’m not supposed to have a voice, people don’t know that I exist. Except until I come round your house and start chewing your face off!

     I jest.

     I wouldn’t do that.

     Unless I was really hungry.

     That wasn’t a joke. I would eat you.

     That’s the thing about us zombies. Survival. We all want to live forever. Although I realise that live is a very loose term, seeing as how we are all technically dead. And the prospects for us zombies are not very good. Not job wise, I mean, who’s going to employ a zombie? Unless it’s for target practice. It’s the quality of life, I’m in the very early stages of the condition, I can still articulate. It’s the progression that I’ve got to look forward to, the steady slide towards full zombification. And it is, as far as I’ve seen, just like the films. The lumbering walk, the inability to communicate much further than a moan, and the insatiable need for human flesh, and yet, it’s the very thing that keeps us going also seems to be the thing that accelerates our decline.

     I mean, I’m no scientist. In fact I have a vague recollection of something to do with shoes, but you’d think we’d change from human flesh to say, beef. Go back to burgers and the like. Would cause people a whole of a lot less hassle. But what do I know?

     I would try and cut down myself, but the craving can just get so great that it’s impossible to hold yourself back, it’s like a drug. The worst drug imaginable.

     And that’s what I’ve got to look forward to. For the lust for flesh to become so powerful that I am no longer human.

     I’m barely human now to be honest. I have to hide myself away during the day, there’s certain telltale signs of my condition that attract the wrong sort of crowd.

     Would you believe there are such things as zombie groupies?

     Unbelievable.

     But since the virus is so widespread there’s obviously been some celebrities that have succumb. Loads of former soap opera stars, pop singers, even the odd footballer. They all soon found that their fortunes couldn’t protect them. Television crews still seek them out, so they still have a modicum of fame, although the ones that are now too far gone have no idea of their former existence. There are some that are still in the early stages of the condition, like me, who have tried to cling on to their fame, but once they’ve been “outed” there’s no chance for them.

     The groupies go after the ones that are too far gone, the further gone they are the better, the more hardcore they appear. It’s like they have a points system, the more famous you were the points, the more of a zombie they are the more points. Put the two together and bingo, you’ve hit the jackpot.

     There are some rumoured cases of people having pet zombies, the uber rich using them as like attack dogs! An intruder on the premises, set your zombie on them and watch the carnage unfold.

     Me, I’m just an ordinary run of the mill zombie. I doubt I was that important as a human, I’m even less so as a zombie. But that’s the way I like it. If I keep my head down then nobody’s going to bother me. I live by the same principles as a human and they seem to work for me.

     I know it’s going to be dark soon.

     I know I’ll have to hunt soon.

     If I’m lucky there will be a road accident and I won’t have to do any of the killing.

     I’m not proud, I don’t mind a spot of scavenging, in fact I kind of prefer it that way, I can justify it to myself if I was not the one that took the life. Soon though I won’t have much choice, the flesh lust will become so great that I won’t be able to fight it. I won’t even know what a principle is; I probably won’t even know what I am.

     Maybe blissful ignorance will be good?

     Maybe I’ll discover I make a very good zombie? Rise up through the ranks and become King Zombie!

     Do zombies have ranks?

     I’m asking that as if you’d know, it is me that’s supposed to be the zombie after all.

     I told you, I’m new to this!

     I wonder if my family are zombies? That is if I had a family. I’d like to think I did, and that they’re safe. Soaking up the sun, picnicking on an immaculately cut lawn.

     That would be good.

     The sun looks as if it’s setting, the sky is turning red. There used to be a rhyme about that I’m sure.

     It won’t be long before you’ll start to hear them, the proper zombies. They’re not exactly known for their subtlety. Dustbin throwing seems to be a speciality.

     Why people still go out at night I’ll never know. It’s not as if they don’t know that we’ll be out there, we’ve been about for years, and yet people are still willing to take the risk.

     Stupid people.

     Maybe zombies are natures new way of killing them off? Disease doesn’t seem to have worked. Maybe this is just a different angle, maybe we’re the next stage of evolution?

     But then if we kill off all the humans, what will we have to feed on? Rabbits?

     I don’t suppose I’ll be around to worry about that, not unless I do improve my game. How else am I going to become the king of the zombies?

     Did you hear that?

     Dustbins.

     The hunt has begun.

     Early prowlers, or maybe early victims?

     The flesh lust creeps up on you, it’s not like hunger pangs, it’s like an addiction, a burning, an insatiable need that must at all costs be sated.

     I presume it’s like being a drug addict, although I don’t think I was ever one of those. And anyway, drug addicts taste bad, worse than vegetarians. They have a bitterness to them, an acrid smell when they’re opened up, as if all the badness is escaping them.

     It’s far easier to spot, and avoid, a drug addict than it is a vegetarian.

     I can feel the flesh lust rising, getting twitchy. And now the night’s adventures must begin. Despite everything, I’m actually rather looking forward to it.

Brian’s Brother’s Bike

 

     Brian sat at his bedroom window watching the world go by.  He could see for miles from his high sentry point. He lived with his mother on the fourteenth floor of the tower block, it was actually the thirteenth floor, but the council was superstitious and decided to make all the tower blocks go from the twelfth floor to the fourteenth.

     He watched the other children playing down below, so many times he’d wanted to run down and join in their innocent looking games, but his mother would never allow him.  He can hear her now talking to the neighbours, “Brian’s a delicate child, he doesn’t seem to mix well with others.”

     That’s because he never got the bloody chance, his mother had wrapped him in cotton wool after Garry’s death.  She never allowed him to play or to leave their small flat, and when they did he would always have to be accompanied by his mother or by one of his many auntie’s.

     Brian’s Mum came from a large family; she was one of six sisters and three brothers.  Being the youngest in her family she had always been slightly spoiled, each of her sisters acted like a mother towards her.  They were all delighted when she married, but were even more delighted when she had her two boys Garry and Brian.  It wasn’t long after Brian’s birth that her husband left her.  All the sisters came round, claiming that they all knew he was a bad egg, and the brothers threatened to kick the shit out of him if they ever saw him again.

     Garry was the apple of his mother’s eye.  Brian, however, seemed to be neglected slightly because of a misplaced belief that he was the cause of the marriage breaking up.  Garry was four years older than Brian and was the more outgoing and popular of the brothers.

     They went almost everywhere together, outwardly they seemed to get along together.  Brian idolised Garry, he wanted to be Garry, to do the things that he did, to say the things that he said.  But Garry thought Brian was a bit of a nuisance, every time he wanted to go out, his Mum made him take Brian with him.  So Brian was like a stone round Garry’s neck, he cramped his style, especially when he wanted to be with his mates.  But there was one good thing, Brian seemed to help Garry pull the girls, he didn’t know what it was, but every time he took Brian with him the girls seemed to come flocking.

     Brian used to watch in awe the way that Garry would show off around the girls.  Brian was ten years old and Garry was fourteen, but Brian was picking up all sorts of habits and mannerisms from Garry.  Brian though, never had his brother’s success with girls, maybe it was because all the girls he knew were older than him, maybe it was because none of the girls wanted this pale imitation of Garry, when they could so easily have the real thing.

     His lack of success made him disappear slightly into his shell, but Garry had realised Brian’s uses, and used him as an excuse to visit his many girlfriends.  At the age of sixteen Garry had five regular girlfriends, none of whom knew the existence of the other, and Garry used to tell his mother that he was taking his brother out for a walk.  His mother would quite readily let them go, knowing that with Brian in tow, Garry couldn’t possibly get into any trouble.  Little did she know that as soon as they were out of the flat Garry would give Brian fifty pence and tell him to meet him in a couple of hours at the swings.

     It hadn’t always been like that though.  Garry used to actually take Brian on the dates with him, but one time he caught Brian spying on him while he was necking in the park.  He made a fuss of getting rid of Brian, but Brian just retreated to a safer vantagepoint, where he could watch them without getting spotted.  Brian continued to do this as Garry’s dates got more and more adventurous.

     Brian followed Garry one evening, after Garry had tried to bribe Brian with another fifty pence piece.  He watched Garry meet up with a girl, a different one, Brian hadn’t seen her before, he followed them to the back of the estate.  There was a large wire fence and then some waste ground and a small wood at the back of the estate.  Garry and the girl crawled through a gap in the fence and walked across the waste ground towards the wood.  Brian dutifully followed.

     He nearly lost them in the wood, but soon caught sight of the girl’s lurid coloured jacket.  They approached and old caravan, the girl produced a small bunch of keys from her jacket pocket and opened the caravan door.  They both climbed inside and Garry shut the door behind him.

     Brian made sat down next to a tree and tried to make himself comfortable, he watched the caravan intently, but nothing was happening.  He was just about to get up and leave when he noticed that the caravan was gently rocking from side to side.  He wondered why this would be happening.  As the caravan swayed it squeaked slightly, above the squeaking Brian could hear a moaning sound which seemed to be getting steadily more frantic.  He was desperate to know what was going on inside.

     He picked himself up and crept quietly towards the caravan, he tried to see in the window but he wasn’t tall enough to see anything.  He looked around him and saw a couple of old crates, he piled them on top of each other and clambered on top of them.  He peered inside the window, he couldn’t see much; the window was steaming up.  All he could make out was a white blob that seemed to be quivering quickly.  He strained to see more, but he stumbled and the crates fell from under him.  The moaning quickly stopped, Brian scrambled to the safety of the bushes, from there he looked back and could see his brothers red face looking out of the window.  Satisfied that no one was about his face disappeared from view.  The moaning started again soon after.

     Brian was more desperate than ever to find out what all the noise was about.  This time he crept towards the caravan and slowly pulled open the door, crawling on his front he peered inside.  He could see Garry on top of the girl, his trousers round his ankles, and the girl’s short dress pulled up over her stomach.  He watched in amazement as his brother moved quickly up and down, the girl was arching her back, she turned her head to the side and caught sight of Brian.  At first there was confusion in her eyes then she screamed.  Garry turned to see what she was looking at.  Brian got up quickly and ran as fast as he could.

     Brian sped into the woods, Garry shot out of the caravan after him.  Brian ran through the woods for what seemed to him like miles.  He hid behind a large tree thinking that Garry couldn’t see him.  He glanced out from behind the tree, only to find himself staring into Garry’s eyes.  Tears suddenly streamed down Brian’s face.  Garry looked at him seriously, Brian was expecting a beating, but Garry smiled and told him not to worry, so long as Mum never found out about this then they’d both be alright.  Brian nodded his head in agreement; Garry smiled and wiped the tears from Brian’s face.  They both walked home best of friends, but Brian was still curious and couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen back in the caravan.

     Neither of them ever said anything about that night to each other ever again, it was as if they had both made a solemn oath that night and neither of them was going to break it.

 

* * * * *

 

     “You make sure you don’t fall out that window.”

     Brian was brought back to reality with a start; he jumped slightly and leaned his hand against the window for support.

     “You’ll fall out that bloody window one day.”

     “Yes mum.”

     Brian moved away from the window and sat down on his bed, he picked up a comic that was lying on the bed and made as if reading it.

     “You never do anything Brian Duncan.” Brian nodded his head idly as he could hear his mother’s voice drown on as she walked into the kitchen, “Always dreaming, you’ll never amount to anything.”

     She always complained that he never did anything or went anywhere, yet every time he tried to go anywhere she would go on about how it wasn’t safe for her to be left alone in the house anymore, you never knew what might happen.  So he gave up trying, he just shut himself off when she started.

 

* * * * *

 

     He could remember the couple of days that changed all their lives as if it had happened yesterday.  It happened about two years ago, just after his fourteenth birthday, it was only a few days before Garry’s eighteenth.  That had always been a bit of a sore point in the family, the fact that their birthdays were only about three weeks apart.  Their mother always complained that she couldn’t afford a present for both of them, so more often than not they got a joint present.  But this year Brian didn’t get a present, Mum complained that she couldn’t afford anything, but when it came to Garry’s she made a great fuss over presenting him with a new bike.  Garry wasn’t impressed, he’d been pestering her for a motorbike, but she had point blank refused, the bike was a sort of compromise.

     Brian was as jealous as hell.  Yet again he was past over for his mother’s favourite.  The brothers had been close, but the bike now caused a split between them, they started to slowly drift apart.

     Brian would watch Garry showing off on the bike.  Their mother would still make sure that they would go out together, Brian would just sit on the swings, gently rocking back and forth, while Garry showed off on the bike, pulling wheelies, doing skids and just generally showing off to the girls.  Nobody would notice Brian; Garry was the centre of everyone’s attention.

     It was then that Brian started to formulate plans of revenge, he planned to somehow get his own back.  He never actually intended to go through with any of the plans, but it made him feel better just to think of them.

     One day Brian was sitting on the swing, Garry had ridden off with a group of his mates.  Brian was minding his own business when a young girl sat in the swing next to him.  He glanced across and recognised her as one of Garry’s girlfriends.

     “Hi.”

     Brian sniffed and continued to swing gently.

     “Aren’t you Garry Duncan’s brother.”

     Brian nodded his head, staring at his feet, he was convinced that she already knew who she was, but he was in no mood to get involved.

     “Brian isn’t it?  Yeah it’s Brian.”

     Brian turned to face her, he had to squint as the sun shone into his eyes, but he could still tell she was a very attractive girl, but he couldn’t work out why she was talking to him.

     “You look a lot like him.” She stared intently at him, “But there’s something different about you.”

     All Brian’s experience with girls had been a complete disaster, he always found himself saying the wrong thing, so this time he didn’t say anything, he just turned back and continued staring at his feet.

     “You’re a quiet one aren’t you.”

     She was persistent; he’d give her that.

     “Here, come with me.”

     She stood up and took Brian’s hand, they walked together.  Brian couldn’t work out why he was following her, he could so easily have shaken his hand out of her grip, but he never did.  They didn’t talk as they walked, she led he followed.

     She took him back towards the tower blocks, not the block that he lived in, but the one next to it.  They walked into the lift; she pressed the button for the seventeenth floor.  The lift doors closed and it started to move up.  They stood in silence for a while.

     “Do you like your brother then?”

     “He’s alright.” Brian mumbled.

     They stood in silence again, until the lift lurched to a halt and a grinding noise sounded as the lift doors opened.  She walked out and Brian followed.  They walked along the gangway, the wind hitting them strongly from the side; Brian stopped and looked out over the wall.  God they were high up.

     “Come on.”

     She stood next to a red door, Brian was still looking out over the wall, and he turned and looked at her.  He wondered what on earth he was doing here, but then she smiled and Brian forgot everything and followed her inside.

     The inside of the flat was small and dingy, it was sparsely furnished, an old telly in the corner of the room, a battered old sofa against the wall.  Brian noticed a large damp patch growing on the wall behind the sofa.  There were two doors; behind one Brian could see an old cooker and a sink stacked full of dirty dishes.  The other door led to the bedroom.

     The girl walked into the bedroom, Brian followed, but his mind was still thinking about the damp patch on the wall.

     Brian stood in the middle of the room, feeling gormless and lost.  The girl smiled and took hold of Brian’s shoulders and moved him to the bed.  She pushed him backwards slightly, he didn’t fall back he just slowly leaned back and ended up sitting on the edge of the bed.  She stood back, Brian was still slightly confused, but now he was becoming more stunned, fear seemed to be creeping up on him, he felt paralysed.

     She lifted up her top, and took it off over her head.  Her breasts transfixed Brian; he followed them as she leaned down and pulled down her skirt, she kicked it away into the corner of the room.

     Brian felt his mouth fall open, she came towards him and started to loosen the belt on his trousers, he didn’t know what to do, he just sort of let things happen.  She pulled his trousers and then his pants down and pushed him back on the bed.  She clambered on top of him.  In spite of himself he could feel himself go hard.  She moved mechanically up and down on top of him.  Brian wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was sure of one thing, he was enjoying this.

     She moved expertly on top of him, Brian could tell she’d done this many times before.  He could feel the pressure building up inside him, and then suddenly he felt great relief as he came.

     As quickly as it had started, it was over.  She climbed off him and collapsed onto the bed.

     She sighed deeply, “You can go now.”

     “Eh?”

     “You can go, we’re finished.”

     Brian dutifully stood up and pulled up his trousers, he fastened the belt.

     “Will I see you again?”

     She didn’t say anything; she just waved her hand dismissevly.  Brian now thoroughly confused walked out of the flat.  He closed the door behind him as he left and stood looking out over the wall.  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might be in love.  If he met the girl again he would have to ask her her name.

     Several weeks passed and Brian didn’t see the girl.  He waited at the swings every day expecting to see her, but she never appeared.

     Then one day he could see Garry and a girl in the distance.  Garry was pushing his bike and talking animatedly to the girl.  As they came closer he recognised the girl, he could tell it was her.  He at first wondered what she was doing with Garry, but then Brian’s world shattered as she leaned over and kissed Garry on the cheek.

     That was it, that was the last straw, now he would put his imagined plans of revenge into action.

     He sat in his bedroom dreaming up all sorts of plans for revenge.  His thoughts were interrupted by the noise of Garry coming in the front door.  Shortly after that his mother shouted that it was time for tea.  He came out of his bedroom and on his way to the kitchen he passed the bike, propped up against the wall, it was then that he knew what he was going to do.  He just had to wait for his opportunity.

     He didn’t have to wait long.  Garry went out one evening with his mates, surprisingly he didn’t take his bike.  Brian sat waiting in his bedroom, waiting for his mother to finish her pottering about in the kitchen.  Finally Brian could hear his mother go to her bed.  He crept out into the hallway and pulled a pair of scissors out of his trouser pocket.  He cut the break cable in half, then made a second cut slightly lower down, removing the small piece of cable he pulled out the strands of wire inside the small rubber tube and then produced a small tube of glue and put some on each end, he then put the piece back in place.

     He held it until he reckoned it was stuck.  He stood back and admired his handiwork, he smiled to himself, the cable looked as good as new.   He put the scissors and glue back into his pockets and sneaked back into his room.

     The next day Brian was again sitting on the swings, he knew that Garry would be out with his bike soon.  Garry came out of the flats pushing his bike along, Brian watched from the swings as Garry waited for his friends to arrive.  A couple of other boys turned up on their bikes, they stopped and started chatting to Garry.

     The three then rode round in circles, shouting and cheering at each other.  Brian had seen this routine many times before; they seemed to make all the noise to draw attention to themselves.  Brian knew that soon they would start their races, and it would be then that Garry would get a nasty surprise.

     The boys stopped their circling and stood round each other.  Brian knew that they would now start to race each other.

     Right enough they lined up along the road and started to sprint as fast as they could, they passed their imaginary finish line and they all skidded to a halt.  Garry looked as if he was going to lose control, but he quickly controlled the bike and was ready to start the next race.

     This time they raced in the other direction, heading towards the main road.  The boys were racing along when a small car turned off the main road and drove up towards them.  This was what they liked best; they loved to play chicken against cars.  The bikes seemed to go faster, the car travelled at a steady pace.  Suddenly the driver of the car could see the cyclists coming towards him, he visibly tensed behind the wheel, he had seen this several times before.  The boys put their heads down and peddled faster.  The gap reduced, the bikes seemed to go faster, the car still travelled steadily on.  One of the boys chickened out and skidded his bike to a halt.

     He watched as the others got closer, the other boy also skidded to the side.  Garry peddled on, then he could be seen trying to work the brakes, his eyes filled with horror as nothing happened, he lifted himself up as he tried to slow the bike.  The car was now very close; Garry was starting to panic.

     Brian looked on with a slight smile on his face, which slowly disappeared as the car came closer.  He jumped off the swing and shouted a warning.  He was up and running as he saw Garry try to swerve, but the back of the bike caught the car and he was thrown through the air.

     Brian arrived too late.  Garry lay crumpled and broken on the side of the road, the driver of the car got out and rushed towards them.  Other people who had seen what had happened ran forward.  Brian was oblivious to the crowd as he held Garry’s head in his hands.  Garry’s eyes were open, but he looked as if he was just staring into space.  Brian was convinced Garry smiled at him just before his eyes closed.

     Garry spent several days in hospital, he never regained consciousness.  Brian and his Mum were their as the doctor switched off the life support machine.

     Brian didn’t know what emotions he was feeling, he felt great loss at Garry’s death, but another part off him was glad that he had finally stood up to his brother.

     His mother didn’t stop crying for the next three weeks, she never acknowledged Brian’s presence, she went downhill quickly, the house was a mess, and she got ill herself.

     The funeral was not a happy event.  Brian felt uncomfortable in the new suit one of his aunts had bought him.  He didn’t like the attention, everybody kept patting him on the head, ruffling his hair and saying what a lovely boy he was.  The one thing he couldn’t stand was when people said how much he looked like Garry.  Brian’s Mum cried throughout the funeral.

     Her sisters then rallied round and started to tidy the flat up; they cooked meals and even paid attention to Brian.

     Brian knew this wouldn’t last forever, but he was glad when his Mum seemed to come out of her depression, but all she ever talked about was Garry.  Brian could feel himself getting depressed.

     He missed Garry.

 

* * * * *

 

     He got up off the bed and walked over to the window and stared out.  He couldn’t work out his thoughts, he wasn’t sure if he felt guilty of not, but he did know that he missed Garry.

     “Tea’s ready.” His mother shouted from the kitchen.

     Brian ignored the call; he sat on the windowsill and stared at what was happening below.  He could see small children playing on the swings, girls skipping, and the faint sound of laughter drifted up.  He then saw some boys riding about on bicycles, chasing each other across the green.

     Brian watched them intently.  A tear ran down his cheek as he pushed the window wider open.

     “Brian, tea’s ready!”

     Brian swung his legs out of the window and sat there for a small while.

     “Brian, will you get your arse in here now!”

     He wiped the tear away from his face, and pushed himself away.  As he fell he felt free, unburdened of what he now recognised as guilt, he smiled as he realised that Garry was the only person that could forgive him, and it wouldn’t be long before they would be together again.

 

The View From The Roof

The wind howled and roared, snapping back on itself, causing Leon’s hair to flick back into his eyes. He pushed it back behind his ear, but the second he did so it was whisked back, dancing wildly in front of his face.

He gave up. Like he did with most things that ended up being more hassle than they were worth. So he let his hair dance.

Leon leaned back and looked at the sky, it looked angry, dark clouds seemed to race across its vastness. Leon felt small.

Lying on the concrete he lifted his head to look down at his feet. They were still there at least.  Past his feet though, he could see the other rooftops, the curious architecture that is never glimpsed from the street below. 

The rooftop was his safe place, his haven.  He would come up on the roof whenever he wanted to escape things, mainly people, and let his thoughts wander. Not big thoughts, not the important stuff, that wasn’t what the rooftop was for. All that got left behind.

He waggled his feet; buildings appeared and disappeared as he did so. He imagined himself a giant, crushing the buildings with one foul swipe.

A seagull landed on the edge, its beady eyes fixed on Leon.

Leon sat upright and stared straight back at the seagull.

Do seagulls blink?

Leon didn’t fancy finding out. The bird was ugly. It had an angry looking face.

The seagull paced. First to the left, then to the right. All the while its gaze was fixed upon Leon.

Leon didn’t like it. He felt like the bird was sizing him up. For something. Something nasty.

Leon stood.

The bird seemed to take this as a challenge and hopped down from the edge, and flapped its wings.

Leon faltered. The bird looked massive with its wings outstretched.

The bird called out. It was more of a screech than a call.

“This is my rooftop!” Leon called out, his voice less than certain, but it was only a bird he was shouting at after all.

The seagull flapped its wings, and seemed to stamp its feet.

Leon stood his ground.

The seagull’s beady eyes stared at Leon. They didn’t blink.

Leon moved to one side, the seagull followed. They seemed to be circling each other like gladiators, neither taking their eyes off the other.

The seagull flapped its wings wide and screeched out. Leon found himself mimicking. The seagull tilted its head to one side, the beady eye staring. If it could frown it would definitely be frowning. Leon took a tentative step forward, not really a massive gladiatorial challenge.

The seagull stood its ground.

Leon willed it to blink; even though he was still not certain if seagulls could blink. He stared hard, almost making his head hurt, then he let out his own screech. Throwing caution to the wind he charged forward, flapping his arms wildly, he raced towards the seagull.

The seagull hesitated, then started to back peddle, almost falling onto its bum. It staggered and flapped its beady eyes still wide, it seemed to organise its limbs and managed to face away from Leon, flapped its wings a few times then took off.

Leon was certain the seagull looked back at him as it flew away, but he didn’t really care, he had his rooftop back to himself again. He ran round in circles flapping his arms and calling out.

He was happy.

“What are you doing?”

The voice made Leon stop. He couldn’t see where it had come from. His eyes scanned the rooftop, but there was nothing.

“It looks fun.”

It seemed to come from behind him, maybe over his left shoulder. He didn’t want to turn round.

“I’ve seen you come up here before.”

The voice had come closer, he didn’t recognise it, but he knew it was a girl. He didn’t like the thought of being watched, it made him feel nervous.

“It’s my rooftop.” The words tripped nervously off Leon’s tongue.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t.” The voice was at his shoulder.

Leon couldn’t help but turn and look. She had short brown hair, a large pale forehead and massive brown eyes. She bit her bottom lip as she moved in front of Leon. He was surprised that she appeared nervous.

She looked Leon up and down; he did the same to her. He noticed that she still bit her bottom lip. Her clothes were simple, a pair of skinny jeans, old school retro trainers, a green t-shirt with the slogan “Angry Biscuits” across it and a red checked shirt. She had three friendship bracelets tied round her right wrist, and a simple watch with a wide brown leather cuff strap on her left wrist.

“You dress like a boy.” Leon sounded like he was accusing her of something.

“I know.” Was her simple reply.

Leon waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. She just stood there, and bit her lower lip.

Leon started to feel a little uncomfortable.

“What were you doing with that bird?” She finally broke the silence.

Leon thought about telling her that he was training it, that he’d had it since it was a chick and now it was time to set it free, but he settled on “Trying to scare it.”

“You should’ve just thrown some stones at it.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“I would’ve.” She said in such a matter of fact way that it shocked Leon.

Her face scrunched up as the sun came out from behind a cloud and shone in her eyes. The wind whipped up and they both reached up and pulled their hair out of their faces at exactly the same time.

Leon sniggered slightly.

“What are you laughing at? You laughing at me?” She suddenly became all defensive and seemed to be bouncing on the tips of her toes.

“I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“What were you laughing at? People don’t just laugh for no reason.” She continued to bounce.

“I was laughing at us.”

“Told you, you were laughing at me.”

“No, that’s not what I said.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“Did.”

“I was laughing at us, both fiddling with our hair at the same time.”

She screwed up her face even more.

“I thought it was funny.” Leon sighed.

“Yeah well.”

Leon decided to walk away; he turned on his heels and headed to his favourite spot.

“Where are you going?” The girl followed after him.

“Away.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere else.” Leon sighed.

His rooftop now felt crowded. He tried to ignore her, but she kept following him.

“Are you following me?”

The girl just shrugged, Leon sighed.

He took a few steps, she took a few steps. He stopped, she stopped.

“Stop following me!”

“There’s nothing else to do.” She moaned.

“Well go find something else to do.” Leon was starting to get exasperated. His rooftop was supposed to be his refuge, his quiet place. But now he felt like he was being invaded.  Everywhere he turned she seemed to be there, just staring at him.

He couldn’t let her find his favourite place, that would just be a disaster.

He veered off suddenly and started to head towards the edge, the drop might scare her off.

She kept following; Leon could hear her feet shuffling along behind him.

Leon muttered to himself, that plan didn’t seem to be working.

“How high up are we?”

Leon hadn’t noticed that she’d run past him and was now sitting on the ledge staring down at the drop.

“I mean, it must be pretty high.”

Momentarily the thought of pushing her over the edge entered his head, but it quickly disappeared.

“I reckon it must be close to a thousand feet.”

“It’s not that high.” Leon looked over the edge himself. They were five storeys up, but the people below still looked small as they went about their business.

“Still pretty high though.”

“I suppose.” Leon tried to act blasé

“You’d make quite a mess if you fell from here.”

Leon looked across at her,

“SPLAT!” She mimicked something landing on the ground with her hands.

“You’re weird.”

She looked at him and smiled.

In that moment her face completely changed. Her eyes seemed to brighten, her mouth forming a smile which it hadn’t seemed capable of doing a few minutes ago.

“What?” The smile disappeared from her face.

“Nothing.”

“You were looking at me strange.”

“No I wasn’t.” Leon turned away as he started to feel himself blush.

“Yeah you were.”

Leon snorted. What it was supposed to mean he wasn’t sure, but he’d heard people do it and it sounded the right time to do it.

There was a loud bang and a series of smaller clatters from the street below. Leon turned round to see the girl peering over the edge and chuckling to herself.

“What was that? What did you do?”

“What was what?” The girl looked up at him, a face full of innocence.

“That noise.”

“Oh that.”

“Yeah that! What was it?”

“Probably one of these.” The girl picked up a stone about the size of a golf ball.

Leon’s eyes opened wide as he gasped.

“They fall quite fast.” She casually lobbed the stone over the edge.

Leon couldn’t say a word as he leaned over the edge and watched the stone fall. It seemed to happen in slow motion, he could see it turn over and over as it fell, almost able to see every pit and crevice on its surface. Then it hit the ground, landing just in-between two parked cars, it split into several pieces, fragments hitting off the cars, a small cloud of dust rising into the air. Then the sound reached them, a crack with hundreds of tiny echoes and metallic pinging.

“Are you mental?” Leon pulled himself back from the edge.

The girl looked at him as if she didn’t understand.

“What if that had hit someone?”

“But it didn’t.”

“But what if it did?”

She sucked air in through her teeth.

“Mental.” Leon started to walk away from the edge.

“I’m not mental!”

Leon felt something hard hit him on the back.

“Ow!” He span round. Lying at his feet was one of the stones “Did you throw that at me?”

She shrugged and looked away nonchalantly.

Leon could feel his anger rise. This was his place. His place. She couldn’t just come along and spoil it, ruin it, take over. It wasn’t fair.

The stone seemed to fit perfectly in his hand, the weight just right. His fingers closed around it. A calmness came over him, his breathing slowed.

Her top lip seemed to curl as she looked at him, she sniffed.

The stone flew through the air, almost gracefully.

Leon didn’t even realise he’d thrown it.

A slight frown came across her face as the stone came closer.

Leon flinched at the noise.

It was a dull hollow thud.

She seemed to look confused.

Leon couldn’t move, his breath stuck in his body.

She staggered back, seemed to dance like a rag doll, then her heel caught the edge. He arms wheeled around, her eyes fixed on Leon, then without a sound she was gone.

Leon finally caught his breath; it all came out of him in one long gasp. He commanded his body to move, it didn’t seem to want to respond.

He forced it.

Half running, half staggering he found himself at the edge. He didn’t want to, but he forced himself to look.

Again his breath stuck, his eyes froze, transfixed by her disjointed body lying on the street below. Arms and legs at impossibly cruel angles, a large dark pool forming round her head like a halo.

Leon’s eyes stared, and stared. Not at her, but at the small stone that lay beside her.

Whatever Happened To Russell Harty?

 

            The pain was aching in her bones.  She had to ease the pain.  Johnny had told her she had to wait, but she couldn’t.  She needed to ease the pain.  Her bones were melting, her body was collapsing.  She needed relief, she needed it now.

            The doorway wasn’t very far away.  She knew she would find her saviour in that doorway.  He was always there, night or day.

            She approached the doorway; she tried hurriedly to make herself look less desperate.  She smoothed down her hair, which was becoming matted with sweat.  She straightened her skirt and adjusted her jacket.  She wasn’t wholly satisfied, but it would have to do.

            She walked up to the doorway.  She knocked on the heavy steel door.  The letterbox opened slightly.

            “What you want?” A gruff voice mumbled.

            She tried not to sound too desperate, but she needed to stop the pain, “I gotta score.”

            “Mmm.” The voice stayed calm and patient.  He’d been through this several times before.

            “Come on, I need some stuff.” She couldn’t stay calm any longer, she was desperate, and the pain was getting worse.

            “Show us the colour of your money.”

            She stuffed her hand into the pocket of her denim jacket and pulled out a bunch of crumpled notes.

            “Put it through the door.”

            “What all of it?”

            “Whatta ya think this is a charity?”

            She reluctantly put the money through the letterbox.  The hand on the other side grabbed it quickly.  She could hear footsteps walking away from the door.  She waited for what seemed to be an age.  Still nobody came.

            “Oi come on!” She banged the door heavily.  She regretted that straight away, her hands felt as if they were burning.

            The letterbox opened and a small piece of foil was pushed through.  She grabbed it and lurched away from the door.

            She walked the short distance to the stairwell and slouched down against the wall.  She rummaged in her top pocket and pulled out a tobacco tin.  She placed the tin carefully on the floor, and opened it.  Inside was a small rubber tube, a zippo lighter, a teaspoon and a syringe.  She opened out the piece of foil; her eyes sparkled as she saw the contents of the foil.  She poared the contents of the foil carefully onto the teaspoon.  She held the teaspoon carefully in one hand, the other she held the zippo and lit it under the teaspoon. She waited as the gluey liquid bubbled lightly.  She put the zippo back in the tin and lifted up the syringe.  With the ease of a confident professional she drew the liquid up into the syringe.

            She stared at the syringe with fascination as she tapped it lightly, and squirted a tiny amount out, to make the bubbles disappear.  She took the rubber tube, pulled up her jacket sleeve and tied it round her arm and pulled it tight.  She slapped her forearm to bring up the veins.  She negotiated her way through several old scars and pushed the syringe into her arm.  She drew some blood into the syringe, watching as it swirled slowly, mixing with the liquid.  She pushed down on the syringe, making sure that everything went in.

            She felt the rush, her eyes glazed over, she pulled the syringe slowly from her arm and lets it fall to the ground.  She didn’t hear it hit the ground, by then she was miles away.  Soaring higher and higher.  She closed her eyes and watched the colours flashing across as she held her eyes tightly shut.

            She felt somebody kick her feet.

            “Ya dirty junkie bitch!”

            She didn’t know how much time had passed or where she was.  She moaned slightly.

            “Shift yer fuckin’ arse!”

            She stretched and rubbed her eyes, as if waking from a deep sleep.

            “Ah told ya t’ shift yer fuckin arse ya bitch!”

            She moaned again.

            That was when she felt the first kick.  Her ribs burned.  She instinctively rolled over and curled up in a ball.

            “Ya bitch!  Ya fuckin’ junkie bitch!”

            She could feel the pain spreading all over her body as the kicks rained down on her head, back and legs.  She just covered herself up until they got bored.

            “Yer nothin’ but shit.” A final kick was put in for good measure, and then they walked away.

            She waited for a while, making sure that they had gone, then she picked herself up and collected her stuff and puts it back in the tobacco tin.  Placing the tin carefully back in her jacket she cautiously stood up and hobbled down the stairs.

            She walked out into the open, she felt the cold wind it her and pulled her denim jacket close to her and walked with her arms over her chest as if hugging herself.

            As she walked she limped heavily; she could feel the pain aching in her legs and back.  She dreaded to think what she looked like.

            She walked across the stretch of wasteland that separated each of the five tower blocks.  She approached one of the tower blocks and walked inside.  She didn’t even try for the lift, she knew it would be broken, it was always broken.  She limped up the stairs, ignoring the graffiti that covered nearly every inch of the walls.

            She reached the fifth floor and pushed her way through the door and down the corridor.  Every corridor and every floor looked identical in this block, but she knew exactly where she was heading.  Every door she passed looked the same, but she stopped at one that looked a little more run down than most.

            She reached into her pocket and pulled out a single key and pushed it into the yale lock and pushed the door open.  She pulled the key back out of the door and pushed it shut.

            The flat was very bare, the wallpaper was peeling off the wall, the carpet looked worn and threadbare.  A single dishevelled sofa sat against the wall, facing an old television.  To one side was a door that led to the bedroom, on the other side were two doors, one lead to the tiny kitchen and the other to the bathroom.

            She took her jacket off and threw it onto the sofa and walked into the bathroom and put the plug into the bath and started the taps running.  She then walked back into the main room; she kicked off her shoes and looked out the window.

            It was raining now; she was lucky she got in when she did.  She could hear the bath steadily filling.  She pulled her T-shirt off over her head and pulled her skirt down and threw them both onto the sofa, next to her jacket.  She looked about for her radio, eventually finding it in the kitchen and walked into the bathroom.

            The bath was now full and the steam was slowly filling the room.  She put the radio down on the floor and turned it on.  The music filled the room.  She looked down at her body; she could see the red marks that would soon turn into bruises.  She unclipped her bra, putting it down on the floor and then she pulled off her knickers, placing them next to her bra on the floor.

            She gingerly dipped her foot into the water, finding it to her satisfaction she climbed in and gently lowered herself into the water.  Feeling its warmth spreading over her body, glad that the heat seemed to relieve the pain.

            Again she looked down at her body, watching it float in the water, already there were bruises growing on her legs and one large one on her ribs.

            She slipped under the water, soaking her hair, holding her breath as she let herself drift.  She pushed herself back above the surface and gasped for air.  The music getting louder as she came back up.

            She brushed her hair back from her face and watched the steam rising slowly from the bath.  She could feel herself getting tired, so she braced her feet against the end of the bath, to stop herself from sinking under.

            Her peace was shattered, as there was suddenly a thudding on the front door.  She jumped slightly and hauled herself reluctantly out of the bath.  She came out of the bathroom and limped over to the bedroom.  In the bedroom she picked up a blue bathrobe and draped it over her shoulders.  There was another thudding on the door.

            “Alright, alright.  I’m coming.”

            The door thudded again.

            “Hold your horses, I said I was coming.”

            Just as she reached the door it was thumped again.

            She yanked it open.

            “What the hell’d you want?”

            She looked at the scruffily dressed man in the doorway as he pushed past her and walked into the main room and plonked himself down on the sofa.

            “Yeah sure Johnny, why don’t you just come in.”

            She closed the front door and followed Johnny back into the main room.

            Johnny looked her up and down.

            “What happened to you?  You look like shit.”

            She pulled the gown tighter round her.

            “Nuthin’.”

            “Don’t look like nuthin’.”

            “It’s nuthin’ alright.  Just leave it.”

            “Touchy, touchy.”

            “Aaw piss off Johnny.”

            She slumped onto the sofa next to him.  He leaned closer to her.

            “Sally?” He whined, “Got anything?”

            “What?  After you wouldn’t give me any last night, you can go fuck yourself!”

            “I was only askin Sal.”

            “Well don’t alright.”

            They sat in silence for a short while; Johnny kept trying to look down the front of Sally’s robe, intrigued by the bruise growing on her chest.

            “How’d you get the bruise?”

            “Eh?”

            “The bruise.  How’d you get the bruise?”

            “I fell.” She lied.

            “Oh.” He seemed satisfied with that answer.

            They both stared into space, Sally drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa, and Johnny blew air through his cheeks.

            “Got any fags?” She asked.

            Johnny patted his pockets and put his hand into one and pulled out a crumpled pack.  He gave one to Sally and took one himself.  He pulled out a box of matches and struck one, holding it carefully on the end of his cigarette.  He took a few puffs, making sure it was lit then shook the match out.

            “Hey what about me?”

            Johnny huffed and reluctantly lit another match and held it for Sally.  When the cigarette was lit she leaned back and took a long satisfying puff, breathing the fumes into her lungs; she revelled in it as she blew the smoke out into the air.

            “What ever happened to Russell Harty?”

            “You what?”

            “I was just wondering what ever happened to him.”

            “You know Johnny, sometimes you can be a complete fruit loop.”

            “Well I mean one minute he was there next minute he wasn’t.”

            “Sounds like most of your friends.”

            “What you mean?”

            “Well, look at Sam, he’s dead.  Jerry’s in hospital, Lisa’s dead, Pez’s dead, Joe’s dead.  Why even your brother’s bitten the bullet.”

            “Yeah, but he was a tit.”

            “What about the others, were they tits as well?”

            “They were just unlucky.”

            “Stupid more like.”

            “Look who’s talking, you ain’t exactly Mother Teresa.”

            “All I’m saying is, don’t you think it’s about time we were a little more careful.”

            “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

            “Yeah, s’pose your right.”

            She got up and walked into the kitchen and rummaged about in one of the cupboards for a while.  She came back, beaming, waving a small plastic baggie in the air.

            “Wanna score?”

            Johnny smiled, “You read my mind.”

            She put the baggie on the floor; four capsules like the ones she had used earlier were inside it.  She reached over to her jacket, on the sofa and brought out her tobacco tin.  Johnny was already one step ahead of her and was tightening a rubber tube round the top of his arm.

            “Come on get some cooking.” Johnny was getting anxious.

            Sally lit the zippo and held it steadily under the teaspoon.

            “Come on.”

            Sally was lost in concentration as the liquid started to bubble.

            “Where’s the medicine.”

            “Hold your horses.” Sally drew the liquid up it the syringe; “It’s nearly ready.”

            She handed the syringe over to him.  He quickly jabbed the syringe into his arm and pushed the plunger down.  His eyes glazed over and rolled to the top of his head, he leaned back and fell against the chair.

            Sally started cooking up another shot, her hands were now shaking, and she had to fight to keep the syringe steady as she drew the liquid into the syringe.  She pushed the syringe into her arm, pausing slightly as she flinched from the pain, and then she pushed down and let the stuff flow into her arm.

            Suddenly she felt loose and relaxed, her minded started to swim, colours seemed vibrant, but detail eluded her.  She closed her eyes and watched the colours fly across her vision.  She relaxed her entire body and slumped backwards onto the floor.

            When she came too, her legs were sore, she tried to move, but her muscles felt as if they were being crushed.  She looked down at her legs and saw the still unconscious Johnny sprawled across her legs, pinning her to the ground.

            She shook herself to try and move him, but he wouldn’t budge.  She kicked and wriggled, but she couldn’t move him.  She stretched over and grabbed the side of the sofa and pulled herself, gradually coming free from under Johnny.

            Exhausted from the effort she slumped on the sofa and stared down at Johnny.  She brought her feet up and sprawled out on the sofa, eventually falling asleep.

            She woke up and stretched, yawning.  She got up and walked over to the kitchen, stepping over the still unconscious body of Johnny.  She filled the kettle from the tap.  As she waited for the water to boil she stared down at the bruise on her chest which was now starting to turn purple.  She got two mugs and puts a tea bag in one of them.  The kettle clicked itself off as the water came to the boil.  She picked it up and poured the water into both mugs.  Stirring the first one she lifted the tea bag out and put it in the other mug and started to stir it.  Satisfied that the tea was ready, she picked out the tea bag and dumped it into the sink.  She picked up both mugs and walked back into the main room.

            “Tea’s up.”

            Johnny didn’t move.

            She put the mugs down on the small table under the window.

            “Hey lazy bones.  I’ve made you some tea.”

            Still Johnny didn’t move.

            “Hey shithead!” She kicked Johnny’s leg.

            Still he didn’t move.

            “Quit kidding around Johnny.” She was starting to panic, and kicked him again.

            Still he didn’t move.

            She fell to her knees next to him and started to shake him.

            “Johnny!  Wake up Johnny!”

            She shook him harder.

            Still he didn’t move.

            Sally was now nearly hysterical; she rolled Johnny onto his front and slapped his face.  Still he didn’t move.

            “Johnny!” She slapped him again, “Johnny!”

            She got up and started to run from side to side like a headless chicken, tears streaming down her face.

            There was a gurgling sound coming from Johnny. 

            Sally quickly shot down to his side. 

            He didn’t seem to move then there was a dribble of vomit from the side of his mouth. 

            She moved closer to his mouth, to see if she could feel any breath, but there was nothing.  

            She sat back on her heels, as she looked at Johnny she noticed that he was turning slightly blue.

            She held his hand and rocked back and forwards crying quietly to herself.

            “Johnny.” She sniffed and wiped the tears from her face.

            She lay down next to him, putting her body close to his.  She moved his arms over her shoulders, so it looked as if Johnny was hugging her and holding her close.