Got It Bad

I hope that I will grow old. I hope that someone will love me. In that car park, there was none of that. The pistol on the seat of the car parked up down the road. The other characters like crows pestering a child. A nuisance. A pest. Something to be exterminated.

I was vaguely aware that I was choking down on gabardine. Like when spitting orange pips I selected my target. I knew that it would end here on some level. The only level that I could now comprehend. But as I squeezed the trigger and took another life I was aware of the orange unravelling in my hands and of juice that would eventually turn sticky. But for now, I was shooting lemons.

I was clear to get away as far as my imagination would let me go. Which to be fair was not very far. The funeral directors up the road opposite the fire station were going to be my alamo. I could see it. I felt the knife in my hand and the unreal feeling of life taking on its own direction and watched transfixed like it was happening on tv on an old fashioned set and I was suddenly older than my mother who was serving dinner. It was somehow not as good as bland watery cabbage and lamb chops served up to me as a child. Not as reassuring anyway. I pushed my plate away and got on with the business at hand.

The police band was using my name and I heard it like through a lens. It seemed inevitable that it would end here and that my body would be transported by ambulance to some wailing planet of post-gangster celebrity where chicken drumsticks were served with salt and pepper mash and the delegates all drank the same brand of whiskey. Where I would be immortalised in the slim pages of a magazine in black and white, forever.

More pins to knock down and a rifle in my hands. Did it matter? I was sailing on grit anyway. A beige suit, a hat that fell too. A car interior that might hold a clue. Another meat hooks in my heart carrying the weight cold. Wood splinters near my head. A bright light. A blaze of glory.

I see laminate and so it wasn’t the end, just the beginning of yet another chapter.

Time For One More…just

Well If I’m quick I can get in another three hundred words before it (being the 21st of November 2015 ) becomes 22nd November 2015. It’s going to be hard going because it’s now 23 minutes to midnight which means I need to average 13.04 words a minute. Well instead of telling you how I worked out that number I will instead introduce, some plot. First a damsel in distress, then a shady rat with a gun or better a knife. Then out hero who wears a plum coloured 1950’s wide shouldered double breasted suit with turn ups and a five-pointed hat. So our hero Sean lets call him is walking out of a diner when he sees our heroine drop her handkerchief on the floor  while paying her cheque.

‘Excuse me, mam…You dropped your hanky’

or something better

Excuse me, ma’am, Can I borrow your magic hanky?’

To which she looks at him somewhat nonplussed and says ‘What magic hanky sir,?’

Why this one by he says waving the snotty rag under her nose. I didn’t know you were a witch!

Hey, Mr…

Hey baby, don;t cry he says wiping the rag under his eyes for effect.

I only wanted to say that I was leaving and saw your handkerchief had fallen out of your bag and I was wondering what to do when I saw your face and I knew what I must do.

What’s that Mr

Ask you out to dinner, tonite.

They stare at each other for what seems an age. Him with the dirty hanky in his hand and her holding his gaze.

She holds out her hand.

‘Hanky please’

‘I never thought you’d ask.

At the doorway, there is a commotion a man in a cheap suit with an even cheaper hat barges through and sits himself down at one of the tables.

seconds later a policeman, then another goes running past.

Our couple has been taking this scene in with their eyes and the man says.

That’s some commotion brother, do you know what is going on?

The man in the cheap suit ignores them and plays with his hands in front of them one the table.

I said brother do you know what is going on out there, you seemed in kinda a hurry yourself.

The man in the cheap suit stood up and walked over to the couple. He pulled a knife and grabbed the woman by the throat holding the blade there. Get back get back he said edging his way into the back corner of the room

Hey Mr GET BACK! Shouted the knife-wielding man

Do what he says mister said the manager from behind the counter.

 

To be continued…