The Light (Part 1)

This is gonna be in a few parts. Hope you guys enjoy it.


The weight of my eyelids is now insurmountable. In my final moments of consciousness, a catharsis envelops me. Floating through the starless pitchblende, I descend gently into the abode of Morpheas. I recognise it as the forsaken place to which I hoped never to be returned. It is a gritty, bleak and wholly desolate place that could not be colder if a million Trapist monks carved it in the Gothic style with hammer and chisel from obsidian and jet.

My mouth fills with tobacco smoke while slightly blue curls of the same twist about me. Expelling the final drag as I stand from the park bench, I despair that I haven’t any scotch, as I could really do with a generous belt. Ah, fuck the sense of dread and impending peril; it’s time I was on my way. I daren’t linger here too long.

My boot scrapes against the glistening bitumen as I mashed the spent cigarette, extinguishing it. It has rained recently here, you can smell it. At least it beats the dense snow that greeted me when I was last here, at Christmas. On the breeze there is also the jasmine-scented smell of an unhappy life festering.

The steady drum of horse’s hooves rising to the gallop fills my ears. Instinctively I follow it, subconsciously knowing that it is the right thing to do. It becomes incrementally louder as it leads me into the party district of an unfamiliar city.

Raindrops on a kamikaze mission explode against my brocaded cassock. It enervates me, but my heavy boots are not exactly the most conducive footwear for running.

The rhythm ceases at the bottom end of a staircase outside a club that from the exterior reminds me of Cookie at Curtin House. I have never got into Cookie without having a cute girl on my arm, and here the heavies by the door mean business.

Momentarily discouraged, I ascend the stairs two at a time and try my luck anyway. I’m supposed to be here, I can feel it. The shorter of the two heavies blocks in front of the door as I get halfway up the stairs.

“I’m sorry, buddy, private function – wristbands only.”

I quickly check my wrists. On the left, beneath the cuff of my black shirt are two: one red, one green. Gesturing to expose them, the heavy steps away from the door and wishes me a good night. I could not help the wry smile from rising as I passed through the door.

I head directly for the bar and order a Black Label on the rocks. The barman goes to extract some cash from me, but he must have caught sight of the wristbands because he trailed off after “That’ll be...” Sliding onto the stool, I scan for a familiar face. There are so many people here that it could be difficult. But eventually, I find you across the far side of the room: the guest of honour.

And that was where I stayed the remainder of the night, partially concealed in the shadows. I watched him push sweet nothings into your ear. I wonder if he recognised the futility of his exercise. No. Probably not. He does not see that you are drowning and that he’s the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. I do, and it took every ounce of my will to conceal the sneer of unadulterated malevolent contempt, but you never saw it, too taken with the laden fork being pushed into your face.

I have a feeling you sensed my presence, because once your eyes locked onto me from such a distance, your entire demeanour changed. Your eyes regained some of their long-missed sparkle and the twist of your lips might have been charitably described as a smile, if weak.

With a quick wary glance behind, you made your way across to the bar. While his back was turned, your lips met mine fully.

“We haven’t long.” You hastily order your cocktail of choice. As the barman prepares it, you tenderly place your small hand on the inside of my right thigh. He turns to the bar and sees you. With the swiftness of a feline ambush, he directs himself this way. The harried whisper follows. “Come. Find me later. I’ll wait for you.”

With a peck to the cheek, you’re swept away, martini glass in hand. Two steps beyond he turns back and looks directly at me, but vacant eyes can glower as much as they like. They see so little. He will not see me.

The almost entirely melted ice cubes clinked together gently as I lifted the tumbler to my lips. I swallowed the dram whole before I drew myself to my full height. A hand brushes at my left elbow. A sweet and diffident voice drifts into my ears.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

She recoiled slightly, not out of disgust, but with that feeling that she’s about to do something that she knows is mischievous, but to hell with the consequences. I curse beneath my breath. I’ll have to remember that I’m the one with the exotic and alluring accent here.

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B_stu.kay823
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