Adam's Mad Ramblings

BLOOD RAIN

I hated the rain.
I hadn’t always felt this way.
I vividly remember the day that I did.
It was August 23rd 2008 when everything changed.

If I hadn’t been so angry I might have been incredulous that the man was surprised. I had been sat at a table near the bar with one eye on the door while I waited for my friend Stella to arrive. That evening the two of us had planned to meet here for a couple of drinks before moving on to a nightclub just down the road. Consequently I had gone out that morning and bought myself a new red silk dress I had seen earlier that week when using the shopping centre as a shortcut to work.

He’d walked over and asked if I wanted to dance. If Stella hadn’t once again kept me waiting I would probably have declined his offer with a smile and the false promise to catch him later. As it was I had grown bored of sitting by myself. In any case I didn’t see the harm, as the pub was less than a mile from my flat, while I wasn’t exactly one of the regulars, I was confident that if anything untoward happened someone who knew me would step in to help.

As was the usual theme Friday night a corner of the pub was set aside for live bands and Bad Wolf, as they had chosen to name themselves, were performing a cover version of the Aerosmith song Crazy which as it happened was one of my personal favourites.
“My name’s Barry, what’s yours?” he leaned in and asked.
“Emma,” I said.
He leaned back and smiled at me, I just began to return his smile when I felt his hand slide what to me was an inch too far down the back of my dress.
“Don’t do that” I said.

He didn’t stop smiling as his hand continued sliding down my dress, and I felt his hand just begin to lift it up and touch my leg underneath. Taking a half step back I clenched my fist and lashed out, connecting sharply with the soft part of his nose and looking on with no small measure of satisfaction as the blood began to flow.
“Do I look like some cheap tart to you?” I said.

Without bothering to wait for a reply I paused just long enough to grab my handbag and leave the pub, fully intending to make my way to the nightclub and arrange for Stella to meet me there instead. I hadn’t realised it had begun to rain outside and it didn’t take more than a few seconds before my dress began to press into me like a second skin.
“Don’t be stupid Emma, come back inside,” a voice I recognised as belonging to Martin, one of the bar staff, shouted after me.

Realising he was probably right I began to turn round even as I heard the sound of running footsteps from behind me. A moment later the handbag I had been carrying across my right shoulder was torn free by an unseen hand, the owner of whom entered into sight as he carried on running down the street away from me.

On a different day I probably would have contented myself by turning the air blue in the direction of his departing back before going home and cancelling all my credit cards but I was still angry over what had just transpired back in the pub. Kicking off my high heeled shoes so I could run properly it was, I would come to suppose, likely that adrenaline played a part in me ignoring the sensation of my bare feet crashing against the wet pavement and through puddles as I tried to eat into the initial head start he had.

Roughly seventy yards down the street he looked back at me over his shoulder before cutting left into the local park. It couldn’t have been any more than five seconds later before I followed him in. He must have fallen over on the wet grass because he was seemingly waiting for me with a line of mud plastered on his trousers as we faced each other at a point just out of sight of the street. I had been so intent on trying to catch up with him and retrieve my handbag that the thought had never occurred to me he might be carrying a weapon such as the knife which he now held in his right hand.

He was breathing hard from the running he’d just been doing, and even through the rain I could see his face was flushed with anger. In a curious turn around I felt my feet rooted to the spot as he walked in my direction, the rain almost seeming to dance from the blade of the knife as he lifted it toward my face.

In the days which were to follow my family and a large number of my friends were to visit this park and lay floral tributes at the place where I was to be found.

I hated the rain.
I hadn’t always felt this way.
I vividly remember the day that I did.
It was August 23rd 2008 when everything changed.
That was the day I died.

Hello Everyone.
This is my first attempt in about 25 years at writing poetry so no laughing.

MOONLIGHT DANCER

Under the dark cloudless sky
By the light of a crescent moon
The Moonlight Dancer dances
Dances a dance of steel and fire

He didn't know where they came from
He didn't ask them their names
All he knew was the steel of their weapons
An Assassin's Masquerade

As graceful as the shadows he leapt and span
A master in the art of death
Neither he or his twin blades showing mercy
The dance he wrought bringing an end to dreams

When the dance was over the silence reigned
The smell of death now fresh in the air
The Moonlight Dancer shall forever remember their faces
The blessing of his dance ever adding to his curse

BITTER EROSION

Even after their time together had, at least as far as Chrissie was concerned, more than run its course she could still remember when he used to smile at her as he asked “Mine?” to which she would always smile in turn as she answered “Forever”.

It had been at the party of a mutual friend where they had first met, one at which he had seemingly been the life and soul. Chrissie had watched from nearby with a barely suppressed grin as he kept a small crowd of people almost entranced with a story which made them all roar with laughter as he finished it with a double entendre. By chance alone he had glanced in her direction and noticed her watching, it had surprised her when he had excused himself and made his way over to her.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he’d said “My name’s Derek, what’s yours?”

“Chrissie,” she’d replied, glancing over his shoulder and taking note of the eyes upon them both as she did so, “Looks like your friends are missing you already,” she’d observed.

He’d leaned in close then so she could still hear him when he lowered his voice. “They’re not really my friends,” he’d said, “In fact I’m in need of rescue, is there any chance of you being my hero?”

For the second time in as many minutes Chrissie experienced surprise, this time at herself, as she took a virtual stranger by the hand and led him through the nearby French windows and out onto the patio, the two of them sharing the type of grin which might have suggested to a casual observer that they were a pair of misbehaving children.

“Thanks,” Derek had said once they’d both rounded the corner of the building “Now what can I do to repay you?”

It had been several hours later and the sun had long since gone down when the two of them finally finished talking.

“Well I must be getting home,” she’d said finally.

“Can I have your phone number before you go?” he’d asked as she rose from her seat.

Retrieving a pen from her handbag she’d scribbled it down on the back of his outstretched hand. The following day he’d called her and they’d arranged to meet that afternoon for a coffee at Costa’s in the town centre. Less than three months later it was with a suitcase containing all her worldly goods in her hand that she found herself walking into his flat.

“Will you be mine?” he’d asked even as she set the suitcase down on the floor.

“Forever,” she’d said with a smile.

It had been a long time since they made their promise to each other and this was what hurt Chrissie the most as she stared down at his sleeping form. A stain from the vodka he had fallen asleep drinking had seeped into the mattress of the bed; the bottle itself had rolled from his hand and down to the floor before being immersing itself in a small puddle.

This was not the first time she had come home from work to find him in such a state. Ever since he had lost his job he’d changed from the man she had fallen in love with, rarely even bothering to get out of bed he had taken to squandering his unemployment benefit on alcohol. The last time he’d drunk himself unconscious she’d stuck around to make sure he was alright but would have walked out there and then had he not dropped to his knees in front of her and begged her not to leave.

The tears which began in her eyes and rolled down her face tasted bitter as she quietly removed her suitcase from the wardrobe and packed up all her worldly goods before walking out to the street. The sun shone brightly on her face as she continued to walk without looking back, she wished it could have been forever.