Friday, April 13, 2007

Story....read
The incessant rain hammered the gray streets of Soho, and ran down the dirty facades of the buildings like bitter tears.

Valentine muttered to himself as he walked the familiar streets from Totenham Court Road underground with his eyes closed. Obscenities filled the chill air around him; he despised the cold stab of the London rain, and the way it was only ever half-dark here. He cursed the sulphurous pollution of the street lights and the pulsating neon signs of the strip clubs, sex shops and porn theatres - he was still aware of their infection through his closed lids and hated that there was flashing lights where there should have been darkness.

Valentine stepped over the threshold of his club and flicked the lights on. He sighed heavily...

Another night ahead watching all these fop fucks prancing around in their purple velvet and black lace, their clown white melting off and running down their faces in the heat of lights and bodies. And the way they smell. They smell like pigs to me. Like cattle. Animals. Even the clean ones smell like piss and shit and sweat to me. I fucking hate them.

Although the lights were soft, dim, he squinted as if they hurt his eyes and glowered over his shoulder at the innocent light switch. He walked over to the bar and tossed his keys down onto the liquid-black granite counter.

“I knew I would find you eventually.”

Valentine spun around in the direction of the voice. It wasn’t just hearing his voice that startled him, but the fact that he had not immediately sensed the presence of another being in the club with him. He'd been around his clientele and nobody else for too long. They'd dulled his senses, made him soft, made him like them. He was no longer the predator he used to be. Living with them, being near them, had made him only a fraction of his former self.

That voice was unmistakable. By the time he’d turned around and the realization had hit him fully, his blood had frozen in his veins. The souls of his feet and the palms of his hands felt as if they were freezer burned; he was unsure whether the sensation was heat or cold. He swallowed hard and tried his damnedest to put forward airs of coolness, and calmness, and nonchalance. He tried, but he knew he would not fool the man who now stood before him, a man he had not seen for decades, yet knew he would see again…someday.

Over the years he had almost learned the art of forgetting the fear a mere mention of his name instilled in himself, and anybody else who knew of him. But those years withered and died, dissolved in a heartbeat, and left behind them an overwhelming nausea in the pit of his gut.

Why did you come back? Why are you here? What do you want? I don't want you here? Why don't you crawl back under your rock, you sick fuck?
Comments (1)