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| sadeyes |
on Sun 26 Jul 09, 9:54 PM to sadeyes's blog.
This is a short story I wrote for a competition. I thought I'd share it here as it is does have a vague S&M theme. Hope you enjoy it (it's only 1000 words so if you find it naff, the torture won't last long 
).
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This is one sweaty armpit of a place. This is pissy lifts and mephitic council estate East London. Halal-fried chicken and a line of truant schoolboys, all Pakis, sitting on a brick wall exhanging incomprehensible neologisms through yellowing teeth. Oi Afzah yeah, Quaran'i-cusmeh yeah, she came to me with the zoogas. I said oi arrami, don't talk me to this one. I call Ammo and them boys from the rock. Ammo a bad man. Oi, Allah's word, he's got a metal plate stuck in his arm after he fucked that shidi up down in New Cross sides. Ammo ain't scared, enni? In Tinsletown, some of Shockie's boys tried it on him. Oi no lie, Ammo just poured a milkshake over my man's head. He fucking bombed it.
I had turned off the main road a minute ago.
But I can still hear it.
Rainwater whispers gently as cars whip it off the floor in parabolic jets. I can't see it, but I can imagine the blurry gleam of headlights illuminating the wet tarmac. There's something reassuring about those honey-coloured beams, even though they're way back there and I'm venturing deeper into a concrete forest. My Google Maps print-out of the area is all clean-cut lines and shaded boxes, a bloodless and anemic abstraction of a setting loaded with a dark specificity I could never have imagined.
There's an empty playground here, the chains of the swings are creaking. I look closer and notice that a girl is teaching a younger girl her ABCs, or should I say her "ah, buhs and cuhs", from crooked chalk forms smeared into the granite. I want the chain to stop swinging, and these kids to go back inside where it's warm and where they can continue their education in peace and comfort. I'm scared, doesn't mean they ought to be too.
I buzz Flat 60. Low-bit rate copper connection.
"Hello?"
"Hello, it's uh, well I... I made an appointment. Over email?"
Emails sound out of place here. Just the very mention of the word fills me with craven shame. The map, partitioned into four wrinkled-edged rectangles by my repeated folding and unfolding, flaps in my hand petulantly. It's another incongorous element that's only adding to my odd guilt of being an outsider. I thrust it into my pocket.
"You're early but come on in." Nascent disappointment in his voice.
I make my way to the flat.
He greets me. A bald man with designer glasses and unnerving blobs of bubbly, foamy saliva at the corners of his lips. He's got a yellow cleaning cloth in one hand, and a bottle of Ajax in the other.
"Come in."
I walk into the lounge. Nothing could have prepared me for this. The walls are ablaze with sparkling sadmasochist paraphernalia. They're festooned with diamond-encrusted riding crops, jewel-studded paddles, daggers with exotic curvatures, and an array of intimidating surgical implements, all lithe and slight but all ending in cruel, twisted points. Between the glittery objects, there are others. These have another kind of menace about them. Gas masks, jackboots, leather berets and a tall, imposing trenchcoat. They make me feel uneasy. As do the twin revolvers on the mantlepiece, their barrels intersecting to make a cross. The carpet is blood red, with strange swirly Baroque patterns on it. Lit-candles are tucked away into form-factored recesses, bathing the place in a worshipful, Church-like glow.
"I don't like it when people are too early. I'm still cleaning up from the last lot. I'm here with the cleaning fluid on my hands and knees. It ruins the magic. For you. I see your friend hasn't arrived yet. Well, I suppose you'll just have to take a seat and wait. Would you like something to drink?"
I ask for orange juice. Deliberately orange juice. I need to be in contact with something innocuous and innocent; the contrived terror of this dungeon has actually shaken me up.
15 minutes go by. She arrives.
"Right then, I'll leave you two alone. See this here?" - he gestures towards a tacky slide-door made of bamboo sticks - "I'll just be inside watching telly. Knock if you need me and most of all, enjoy!"
He disappears like some perverted toad into his little dormitory behind the bamboo. Before he closes it shut, I look into the room and notice a console of CCTV monitors stacked above one another, all facing a shabby green settee. I shudder at the thought of what goes on in there.
But he's out of the way now.
She is frightened.
I take my suit jacket it off and drape it across the chair. I approach her, measuring my speed and ensuring I'm going just slow enough. Now within reach, I run my hands through her hair and breathe in, lewdly and loudly, her cheap shampoo. I push a finger through her lips. They rise slightly as they pass over my wedding ring.
I push her to the floor, unhook the trench coat from its peg and put it on. It's smooth and as black as seeing through closed eyes. I put the beret on, and the boots, and the gloves. I take one of the guns hanging over the fire place into my gloved hand. I lower it to my groin, its barrel pointing at her face. I force it into that pretty mouth again. Her saliva greases the gunmetal. Twin streams of tears race down her face.
An hour passes. I count a stack of notes onto her outstretched hand.
"400. There you are. You can leave now."
She leaves. I knock on the bamboo. Baldy steps out. The bloody pervert was probably watching us from his command center of hidden cameras the whole time.
"That's what, 1.25 hours, so that comes to 200. Hope you enjoyed it."
I pay and leave. I pass those girls in the playground again. Pink flowers on their salwar kameez.
Back into Commercial Road.
Back into Central Line.
Back into civilisation.
| 26 Jul 09, 10:06 PM Outrider UK(S), 7 yrs |
weird but good, how did it score in the competition? Let's agree on this. You don't tell me about your problems with Windows and I wont tell you about Linux | ||
| 26 Jul 09, 10:11 PM sadeyes UK(NW), 4 yrs |
sadly wasn't short-listed. glad you like it though. the themes (as prescribed by the competition) were "London, grime and glamour". | ||
| 26 Jul 09, 10:22 PM Ima_Kant UK(PO), 3 yrs |
I like that - short and original. Don't be put off by not winning. I also write the occasional short story... and here's one I wrote earlier... hope you enjoy? | ||
| 26 Jul 09, 10:35 PM sadeyes UK(NW), 4 yrs |
Thanks mate. I'll memo you about your story once I've read it. (btw, brilliant name you've got!) | ||
| 26 Jul 09, 10:42 PM Ima_Kant UK(PO), 3 yrs |
I read quite a variety of books but yours reminded me of the 'West Coast' shorts I used to devour from Manic D Press at one time. Your young and got your life ahead of you... stick at it with your novel.
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| 27 Jul 09, 9:07 AM Scribbles UK(RH), 4 yrs |
Bastard - that's so, so good! Brilliant. My only reservation was that he took and used the various props, especially a gun, when he had previously been shocked to see them. The coat I can understand, given the guy watching; not so sure about the others. I suspect I'm not understanding part of the story though. | ||
| 27 Jul 09, 10:10 AM MarcusStrapp UK(CB), 7 yrs |
Stirring stuff. Took me on the journey, completely. The observational acuity of the lead role accentuating and savouring the sordid dark depravity of the situation. Credible, believable, frightening. The @Fetish_Photo_Album A free and private flickr group for IC members to share dirty pictures! | ||
| 28 Jul 09, 9:26 PM sadeyes UK(NW), 4 yrs |
I'm glad you all liked it Makes me want to write another but I think I work best when there's a deadline looming... |
