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 6th 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.
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