Crickets

Mercury

As the concrete rushes up to give me that last sweet kiss, I’m sorry to say there’s no flash of

enlightenment, no angels or demons waiting to greet me. In fact all I I’m thinking is, I hope this don’t

fuckn hurt.

 

There was no apocalypse no Armageddon, no flash of godly fury to smite us all. In a way no

punishment was the greatest punishment of all, we were left to rot in our own filth, and rot we did.

Oblivion. Beautiful oblivion.  I personally hoped for it, wouldn’t be surprised if others did too, for this

whole shit-storm to be over in a few moments of nuclear power, or godly justice, whichever was

your poison. Humanity needed a wrecking ball, and when we didn’t get it we started to think we

could do whatever we wanted, why deny our obvious animal nature any longer, the threat of

consequence faded and as it did, men became monsters. De-volution scientists called it, a fickle

attempt to justify the breakdown of society. Governments were still there, police, politicians, all still

in place but lacking that voice, or maybe just ignoring it, reminding us of what was right and wrong.

It was like somebody killed our little voice, took it away and without it we were creatures of impulse,

took what we wanted when we wanted. The weak or compassionate stood no chance, so those few

left that held on to the shreds of a conscience were vulnerable. It’s not uncommon to see bodies

down side alleys, sirens are a constant whine, gun shots crack though out this city like the fuckn

fourth of July all year round. And I aint one of the good guys, definitely not, done things that’ll follow

me to my shallow grave, I’ll die, soon, face down in a gutter or slumped next to some side street

dumpster, it’s what  I deserve. But before that I’m getting drunk.

 

 

 

The cold wind punches me in the face in the face as I step past the bouncers, but I savour the feeling

of walking away from the club with more than I walked in with. Hans’s gentleman’s club was known

to frequent a lot of high rollers, cops and judges played black-jack with pimps and thugs. I cleaned

those parasites out. Left em with nothing. The looks on their faces. Watching them wriggle and

sweat from across the table, felt almost as good as taking their money, almost. Not that it would

have made a difference if they were good people, would’ve taken their money just as quick. I have

just enough days like this to stay above ground, I aint getting rich, but then I can afford to buy

clothes and feed myself, which is better than a few in my neighbourhood, plus I haven’t had to kill

anyone for a while, so there’s that. I get a few blocks and turn down a side alley before I notice.

Three guys I saw outside Hans, following me now, the beat of their footsteps speeding up.  I’ve

noticed them too late, one of them jogs up past me then stops to stand in my path. If I’ve learnt one

thing growing up on the wrong side of this city, it’s that in situations like this you either hit hard or

run fast. There won’t be guns. Many elections ago recreational weapons were outlawed, there was

no such thing as a gun store anymore the only people that had guns were military and the cops, both

they’re own types of thug, so the only way anyone got a gun nowadays was by killing a cop

something I’ve tried and let me tell you it’s easier said than done. In saying that they would almost

definitely have knives, everyone did. Hit hard or run fast.

 

He hasn’t finished asking me to empty my pockets when I rush him. I’m not a big guy, but you don’t

need to be if you hit in the right places, I pull bigmouth towards me and thrust my knee up into his

groin,  he’s still mid-sentence but the next words all come out in a rush of breath as I push the air

out of his body. My right fist hammers into his cheek and I’m drawing it back for another when alley

rat 1 and alley rat 2 grab me from behind. They kick out my legs and now I’m kneeling in front of big

mouth, who’s  doubled over vomiting, one  of the guys behind me locks my neck, the other locks my

arms. I’m struggling hard but their grip is good. Big mouth stands back up, and his left fist barrels

into my jaw, then my eye, then the side of my face. It’s a savage beating, he punches down and

across my face, unrelenting. A car drives slowly past the end of the alley, and big mouths shadow

looms huge on the brick wall, a larger darker version drawing his fist back high above his head before

sending it crashing into my dark twins jaw. Cuts open up and trails of blood start to drip, I drag my

eyes up and there’s a flash of steel, big mouth thrusts the blade towards my stomach. Cos I’m gonna

die soon aint I, somewhere near here, probably soon, but not tonight and not in this alley. They’ve

got me all locked up but I put all my strength into pumping my legs, I manage to stand up but the

blade still sticks me, right above my hip. My side burns but I shake loose of the other 2 my jacket

coming off in their hands and I’m all over bigmouth before he gets another chance. I hit him across

the face twice and feel the satisfying crunch of his cheek bone, he’s dazed and I grab for his knife

hand while he flails, the knifes’ in my hand now and I swing round to see the other 2 realizing I have

the knife and reaching for they’re own. The steel switchblade finds a home in both their stomachs

before their knives are out. They drop, probably wouldn’t die if I left them. If I left them. I turn back

to big mouth who’s slowly standing when he comes out of his daze and see’s the other 2 writhing on

the concrete, then tries to run but he aint all that quick when his head is spinning. I chase him about

20 meters down the alley, catch him by the shoulders and swing him so he slams into the wall of the

alley, he groans and slides down. I drop the knife. Crimson still drips from the wound above my hip,

staining the black and grey alley with ribbons of deep red. I see a flash of hope cross bigmouths face

when I drop the knife, but that don’t last long. Cos I’m looking at him and all I see is the guy that just

tried to stick that there knife in my heart. I crack my knuckles and he cowers. I give him a beating,

the kinda beating he might not wake up from. His boys are still groaning on their backs, I take the

opportunity to strip them of any cash they have on them, which is barely anything.

 

What a waste, lowlifes like these pooled in alleys all over the city like puddles after rain, and they

jump for change, hell they’d jump you for a laugh, leave you bleeding out cos they aint got anything

better to do. I pick up my jacket, it’s ruined, which really pisses me off. I only ever wear suits, simple

tailored suits in dark blues, greys and blacks.  I guess it’s something I cling to, cos like a have a habit

of repeating, I’m gonna die soon, no two ways about it, but when I do, I want it to at least look like I

died for a reason. I want people to see me dead there in the alley, and wonder at what great or

sinister scheme I had been a part of.  I want them to look at me in my suit and worry or speculate. It

should at least look like my death meant something. This is why I’m pissed about my suit, which is

why I give one of the guys bleeding into the alley a hard kick in the head that shuts him up good. I

limp to the end of the alley, stop and look back. I wish I felt bad, I wish I felt anything.  But when I

look back at my nights work, 3 men who may or may not see the light of the morning, a wound that

still now makes my shirt stick to my skin as the scarlet spreads, I feel nothing. In fact all I’m thinking

when I eye one of the men on the ground is, I hope that fuckn hurt.

 

I toss the jacket into the street, take a moment to steady myself, and then I step out of the alley.

 

I’ve gotta find somewhere to fix this bleeding. The closest triage centre I know of is only a few blocks

from here, but the way my head is spinning, my legs are running out of strength, it might as well be

on the other side of the world. I hardly get a look from the few people I pass on the street, covered

in blood stumbling all over the path. I’m glad I put all my winnings straight onto a cash card that’s in

my pocket, no way I’d last a second out here carrying cash looking like this. Not that I think it would

matter cos my visions really starting to blur now, the edges of buildings smudge like pastel across

the street.  One of them beckons, the steps up to a hotel are lit with a cold white light, I lean my

back up against the wall under the naked bulb, then inch my way down into a sitting position. The icy

concrete feels strangely warm. I stretch my legs out, my arms hanging, lifeless from my sides. My

blood is starting to pool around me and I’m too concussed to walk, maybe this is it after all.  I lose

track of time, the occasional person saunters past in the early still-dark morning, none stop. I don’t

know how long it’s been when my eyes start to flutter, to drift down, dragged by a deep tiredness,

pulled by my slow acceptance that this is how its gonna end. I aint glad about it, but then it aint how

I imagined death would feel. It just feels kind of…grey. My eyes finally close, and as I drift off I curse

myself, I’m dying, I’m dying right now, and I don’t even have my jacket on.

 

 

 

Angels have brown hair. They wear faded blue jeans frayed at the knees and white t-shirts. I know

this cos I’m looking right at one. She looks at me; she’s got brown, almond eyes. She’s walking

towards me but I can’t keep my eyes open anymore and she’s gone and I’m dead again.

 

 

Elise

What a fucking night.

 

I didn’t get out of there till 5. Not that there are any good nights when you work at a strip joint, just

bad and really bad. And then there was tonight. I’m not a stripper, maybe I shoulda made that clear,

I work AT a strip joint, but I’m a waiter, I serve drinks, not that the clientele can tell the difference,

they grab at me and jeer as much as they do the dancers. Ask me in a few months when I’m really

broke though and you could get a different answer, I’m struggling but so is everyone, and my boss is

making a habit of asking me if I want time on the stage just about every night now. I’d be lying if I

said I hadn’t considered it. I guess I’m lucky. At least I have the option, wouldn’t have it if I’d been

born ugly. It says something though doesn’t it, you’re lucky in this city if you can parade yourself

naked in front of a bunch of drunken men for the cash in their pockets. It doesn’t bear thinking

about, the things unlucky girls have to do to get by. So yeah I guess I will eventually have to take my

pig of a boss’s offer. He’s even thought up a name for me, not exactly creative or original but

definitely fitting for a girl dancing at a club called Heaven, he wants my stage name to be Angel.

 

Its cold outside, the wind tries to snake its way past my coat to my bones so I pull it tighter around

me. I always wear lots of layers when I have to walk home after work. *maybe develop boyfriend

character here* as much to hide shape as to fight the cold, it may be a good thing to be pretty when

you’re looking for work, but it’s definitely not an advantage when you’re out in the city at night. I

don’t live far from work, in an apartment block just on the outskirts of the city. It’s stupid, girls don’t

walk home at night, especially not alone, but I’m pretty stupid sometimes. I don’t see him till I’m

almost home and even then I don’t really see him cos no one in this city see’s anyone they don’t

want to see. He’s slumped against the wall outside the foyer of my building. He’s dead there’s

nothing I can do for him. He’s dead. But I can see the slow rise of his chest and I know he isn’t. I’d

just find it a whole lot easier to ignore him if he was. Keep walking, keep walking go home go to bed,

leave him. I do. I swipe my card and hear the locks slide back, the foyer to this building is about as

un-homely as something can be, the bulbs are naked on the ceiling, and they project a harsh white

light that leaves the shadows to their corners but somehow highlights every stain on the carpet.  I

live on the 6^th floor but the elevator as far as I know has never worked. My steps bounce about the

concrete stairway as I walk along the sounds of at least two screaming matches taking place on

two different floors, Friday nights are always bad, though it’s not really night anymore, its five-thirty

and the sun will be here soon. It will rise on a dead man at my doorstep.