The icy orb hangs in the sky, a pendulum, bathing the street in a pool of startling white light. Its usual dewy finesse is replaced with a disc of hard lines, barren and alert. The fuzzy, dreamy state that once occupied its nocturnal life is nevermore. It has awoken. The desolate sphere swims to and fro across the atramental sky, like an anchor, as its invisible hands count down the minutes in moments. In the slink of a cat across the road, one moment, a fluttering napkin in the breeze, two moments. And then my pointy shoe slips out from behind the dull, insignificant, and inconspicuous van. I am the third moment. As the watchful, all seeing eyes of the pasty, solemn orb zoom in, I revel in its focus and bask in what it’s telling me to do.
My stiff jacket, once a nightmare to fasten, drapes loosely over my shoulders, and a gold ring burns through my pocket lining, reminding me, taunting me. Looking down, a crooked shadow confronts me; my extensive, bowed nose peaks out from under penalizing eyes that I cannot see. The door two buildings down the street bangs open, and the music from inside filters out into the night, before getting sucked back into the vacuum as the door slams. A rotund man with a jolly glow in his cheeks swaggers out. I look away. He is of no importance. My jaw clenches and I sigh irritably. I take one last look at the lady in the sky, and then settle down to wait.
The infinite nothingness grows darker and darker, and the lampposts- few and far between- beam brighter and brighter. My fingers are numb. Then the door opens, and sure enough, there she is. Bangs slicked with grease stray over her forehead, and her russet hair straggles her back. Blood like scarlet lipstick is smeared over her face, as her grainy mascara pools under her bloodshot eyes. Orange foundation streaks her pale face. Her blouse may as well be open for the amount of buttons she has undone and the greying material stretches awkwardly over her swollen stomach. Her skirt could pass for a belt.
She starts to totter and sway as she walks down the street. The gentle breeze turns to wind, and then the wind starts to howl. I slump my shoulders and travel in pursuit, her diminutive hobble is nothing in comparison to my elongated strides. I am close enough to smell the odour of her sweaty, strawberry perfume, and the lingering scent of beer and men’s aftershave which clings to her skin with a vengeance.
My arms snake around her- one hand covers her slippery lips. I start to drag her into the alley. She kicks at skips, bites my hand, claws at my face… She must just be a bit disorientated. She really shouldn’t drink so much. I pull her under the only lamppost (good lighting is important after all) and I can feel the appraising spotlight focusing on me, I imagine my awed audience swooning to my act of heroism to come.
“Mmmmargh!” she screams as my hand lets go of her mouth and I kick her to the floor. She drowsily squirms underneath me, salty tears wetting her cheeks. “Jack, please…” she moans as I kneel down over her, my knees pinning her hands to the ground. “No, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…” she murmurs, panic pleading desperately in her red eyes. How can she even ask me this? It’s not like it’s MY fault she’s here! I shake my head in annoyance and smash my palm over her mouth, silencing her frantically moving lips.
The wind wails around my face as I reach into my pocket for the plastic handle. Pulling the knife out, the serrated metal edges glint in the artificial sun. A swirl of adrenalin and exuberance erupts in my gut. I feel her neck tenderly, marvelling at the life source pumping through her carotid artery. A grin of excitement lights up my face as I plough the knife from the left to the right of her neck.
Rachel Leedham