It was well past 4am when he stumbled out the door to the
freezing December winter outside, the steady beat of the
music remaining only as a temporary imprint in the back of
his head. His mind went charcoal on booze and cheap PCP,
which the bartender was more than happy to supply him with.
I need a steak, he thought to himself, a huge chunk of
beef sizzling in it's own blood and fat.
The great dark shadow of the working day was lurking right
around the corner, only a few hours away, as menacing as a
gun to the temple.
It'll be allright, he assured himself, a couple of hours'
sleep... a couple of whiffs of coke and a shot of ye ole
Scotch, and I'll be good as new. None to worry about.
He stood his ground for a short while, breathing in the
fresh morning air and adapting his body to the cold.
"Hey," he heard a shrill voice behind him. What now? he
screamed in his head. "Sebastian!"
He spun on his heels, nearly crashing to the floor,
temporarily deprived of his balance. How does she know my
name? he recoiled in horror. His mind was racing in
diagonals, threatening to burst through the shield of his
scull.
"How... how do you know... my name?!?" he shouted at her
with the unbalanced and hoarse voice of a drunk beggar
She looked at him with a flicker of misunderstanding.
"We were talking inside," she pointed at the heavy wooden
door of the pub, "on the bar... Not five minutes ago!"
That's right, he recalled, she was mining me for
information about my book! And whatmore, sticking her nose
into my precious stash of speed! But I told her nothing!
Nothing indeed, about my priceless, unfinished
masterpiece... He regained his foothold, steering slowly
back into clarity.
"Alright!" He spat at her, and pointing an accusing finger
in her face, added "call me Bas. No friend of mine calls...
refers to me as Sebastian!"
"Okay... Bas." She seemed puzzled, "Don't you remember? You
just told me everything about the book you're writing. 'The
terrific journey of a man into the endless well of his
unconsciousness' as you described it. You jabbered about it
for the best of an hour... Lucky for you, I'm as spun as you
are. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been standing here, trying
to beat you into sanity right now!" She started to shake
impatiently. Every few seconds she was pulling her nose,
whiffing for air with every pull, as if her soul might
escape through her nostrils if she didn't.
"Anyway, I was wondering if you have a quid for me, for the
taxi back home... Or maybe you could drive me? If... if you
have a car, that is..."
For the first time he got a good look at her, unaffected by
the red gloomy light of the pub. Ugly! he thought in
disgust, How could I have talked for an hour to someone so
ugly?!
She was broomstick thin, no sign of anything but bones under
her tattered brown overcoat. Her hair was dark, thin and
seeded with what seemed like grey cat fur. It was slung in a
ponytail above her head, which only highlighted her face,
thin and freckled all over with tiny red zits, small pouches
of pus and liquid fat.
"Well?" she asked, an ashamed look in her eyes, gnawing at
the back of her hand.
He stood rooted to his spot, staring at her in disgust, for
her hand, where she was biting it, was starting to bleed,
small specks of skin and blood sticking to her teeth and
lips.
I'm hallucinating, he thought, this is naught but an acid
flashback! It can't be real!
He knew that for a fact, as her blood wasn't flowing in
streams over the palm of her hand. Indeed, it was gathering
in small drops, rising from the scab into thin air, as if
gravity was nothing but a myth to it!
"You damned fool!" it was saying to him, "How can you be
standing there, stuck to this dirty sidewalk in the middle
of nowhere?!" It was actually speaking to him, in a high
pitched voice! He could hear it talk! The drops were
gathering in front of his face, between him and her. Shaking
his head, he managed to cancel their un-obedience to the
laws of physics and sent the blood downward, splattering on
the ground.
What the fuck is going on here? he panicked, What the
fuck is wrong with me?! I have to get the hell outta here
and go home, to bed, get some good night sleep! The hell
with this ugly bitch and her cheeky, arrogant blood!
"No car!" he mumbled, lying. "I'll give you money! Just get
the hell of my face!"
She stared at him, her eyes fixed on his in a humiliated
disbelief. Her mouth half open, skin and blood still
clinging to her yellowing teeth.
What a dumb horse-head, he reflected, no wonder for that
horrible skin of hers. Probably lost all her veins by now!
Sticking the needle under the tongue, or above the clit,
perhaps. Poor fool!
He fumbled in his jeans' pocket for change, his hand half
rigid with fear and excitement. All he could dig out was a
five pound note. He held it crumpled in his hand, staring at
it sadly.
"Here!" he finally held it to her, "Take it and leave me to
be!"
She grabbed the note with her right hand, and with her left
went for his ball sack. He twisted sideways, avoiding the
grab, and turning back he slapped her with the back of his
wrist on the cheek. The blow sent her off her feet, and she
fell backwards on the door. Sliding down to the sidewalk she
started chuckling like a frenzied coyote. Given the break,
he finally turned and started in the direction of his
Renault, half walking - half running.
"Fiend!" he mumbled under his breath. He heard her gasp,
overhearing his remark.
Nevermind that, he thought, should beat some sense into
her ugly head!
After a dozen steps he relaxed his pace, looking backwards
just once to see her rise to her feet and walking slowly to
the other direction. His car wasn't far, and just as he was
about to reach it, he heard the screech of tires in the
distance behind him. He turned just in time to see her
scrawny bod rise into the air, limbs flapping like on a rag
doll, pausing in mid-air for a second, then finally dropping
on the floor with a silent thud.
For some reason, against his instincts, he sprinted towards
her, reaching the splattered corpse in a few seconds. She
was hit by a 911 Porsche, it's front windshield shattered
and covered with blood and tiny speckles of bone from her
scull and teeth. He looked down on her in disbelief. His
mind whirled, and he lost balance again, this time dropping
to the floor on the side of his ass. Her gaze was fixed on
his face now, in a cold, dead stare. Her head was in
shambles, resting on her arm, blood dripping down from the
side of her mouth, this time the drops falling rapidly on
the cold asphalt. Her hand was clutching a crumpled five
pound note, clear of blood.
Rising back to his feet, he looked at the car. Inside, he
could hear the voice of a woman, screaming in terror, as the
male driver failed to subdue her anxiety. They were unaware
of his presence, he figured, too startled by the blood
smeared all over their windshield. Standing still for a
moment, looking in disgust at the body in front of him, he
tried to figure his position. Then, crouching, he grabbed
the note and started back for his car, never looking back.


March 9th, 2005