roll credits ·
2 September 04

I was slouching rather than sitting down. Aside me sat a woman, a face I couldn’t see, but a voice that boomed advice like a megaphone taped to my ear. On the other side an old man. A crazy old man, with skin that was hanging off his face as if tied with wire, rather than being a part of him.

Wedged between them, this was not private fantasy I had pursued. The room was dark, with a musky smell that was too prominent not to notice. The woman complained that the smell was making her dizzy, the old man however was pursing his lips together, as though he was being fed invisible food. I’m guessing his reaction was natural when you get to that age. Dentures were not in place, so everytime he talked he sprayed my face, and the room at large.

His eyes were glowing, like the light reflecting the eyes of a cat. His face was coarse, rugged, a desert that had frozen over. No flexibility, no moisture, just open pores big enough to cause a death to anyone that fell inside. He looked down upon me, I noticed, and shrugged uncomfortably, looking at the film ahead. It said City of Angels Starring Al Pacino. It was raining in the picture, water pouring down, done for effect no doubt. I focused on it with all my might, avoiding eye contact with the man who would be a desert.

She told me to offer him a cigarette. I took out a golden box, it glittered with the little light that shone from the TV screen, like a bar of gold, containing every disease you could muster in your mind. I unwrapped the film around it, and ripped open the box. The vomit colour butt ends stuck out like whores in a brothel requesting immediate business. Apply within. The cigarettes gave me a strange feeling, as if they were watching me. If I picked one up, would it contain a watchful eye, one that would see into my soul?

I offered a smoke to the old man, his hands flapped around the box like a dying seal, punching and gripping the box held firmly in my hand. He seemed to want kill the box, perhaps a momentary reminder in his head of someone who he hated, someone he wish he had killed.

The cigarettes became squashed and bent. It pissed me off, but I kept my nerve. He grunted and then hit me hard in the stomach. I coughed, the pain reaching me a few seconds after the impact, but reaching me severely and presently. I look up at this bastard’s face. He smiles and laughs saying he hates cigarettes, but takes one anyway lighting it with his thumb, which glows so bright my eyes are hurting. The cigarettes in my hand no longer look like a new packet. I want kill the bitch next to me. Are they related? What the fuck am I doing watching this film with these two nutcases?

I can’t even see her, a face, a body, only a silhouette sits next to me, a shadow that speaks. Her nails claw into my neck, the pain increasing as the nails go further in, I shunt forward, and pull out one of the nails which got stuck in my neck. My blood isn’t red, it’s black. It smells like tar, and feels hot and sticky, drying into a hard plastic substance as I press my thumb and forefinger together.

Looking at the packet, with the two hellish people next to me, I decide to take my mind off this and smoke one myself, I still have reservations, however. Something creepy and wrong enters my mind as I burn the cigarette, and inhale the poison, as it instinctively waves hello to the inside of my body and sprints across my veins and hugs my heart. As I take away the cigarette butt from my mouth, I noticed that the butt has turned green and porous. The cigarette burns on both ends, and the more I inhale, the more the butt turns green and porous burning itself away, and there, somewhere in the pores I see the snake eyes peering at me, the mouth smiling. Nothing is spoken, as I fall back and fade.

It’s raining, pouring down like Niagara falls. Cars are driving along side speed boats that are pushing the water, leaving cars in its wake drifting off course. There’s little of the road left, and yet the pavements are dry, and the rain keeps pouring, and my hair is wet.

The eyes open, the silhouette next to me talks. I see the old man on his hands and knees, crawling across the floor, running behind a white picket fence, and then running behind piece of card made to look like grass. The bright yellow and green stripes not particularly convincing me or anyone else I imagine. Where we stand sits a house, as fake as the grass that sits behind the white picket fence. The house is red in colour, with the pattern of bricks imprinted. The white picket fence extends around the perimeter.

We stand on the ground which is a putird green in colour, painted, matted, glistening. None of this makes sense. I watch the old man disappear behind the fake green grass in to the equivalent of a cat flap. The woman next to me disappears, I go around where the grass is and lean on the cardboard. I lay my head against the fake wall of the side of the house, and look up at the fake sky and the bright fake sun. I close my eyes, and drift to sleep.

I hear the creaking of a door. I notice two people walking. A woman wearing dungarees, white trainers and a yellow shirt underneath. The man has a blue shirt, sky blue, his hair doesn’t seem real, more like a plastic turd glued to his head. The man, who I assume to be the husband, drags behind him a wooden girl, as though she were a dog. Her face has been scraped and battered, and one eye is missing. The clothes have been torn, and are ragged. A red and white top, and jeans. Nothing on the feet, no hair.

The rope is tied around the girls neck, and as the man pulls, her foot rattles and traps itself between the white picket fence. Kill me she says. Kill me so they stop he repeats. The woman turns, wearing large Elton John sunglasses. She spots me and sprints over, raising her hands in the air, she says nothing, yet her mouth opens and closes, as though she were talking. I can hear the sound of the man pulling the rope and trying to drag out his daughter, and the rattle of the fence, but I still hear nothing from the woman. It starts to fade in. Ter. Aughter. Where’s My Daughter?

[zz93]

Tired, I close my eyes a little, yet she repeats the same message. Where’s my daughter? Where is she? Tell me where she is? I don’t know where her daughter is. She tells her husband I’m awake and that I’m pretending to close my eyes, but he’s too busy tugging at the rope, the leg is almost torn off of the daughter, the head is also coming loose, but the man is not giving in. I want my daughter, she screams at me, pulling clumps of hair off her head as he speaks. I’ve never seen her daughter, so I can’t tell her where she is. I take one last look at this disaster, behind this bright, white picket fence and disappear again.

I pull my coat over as I push open the double doors. It’s raining, pouring down like Niagara falls. Cars are driving along side speed boats that are pushing the water, leaving cars in its wake drifting off course. There’s little of the road left, and yet the pavements are dry, and the rain keeps pouring, and my hair is wet. It never seems to hit the pavement. I see the reflective neon light from the credits of the film playing above my head. City of Angels starring Al Pacino. The green glow illuminates the dark, murky city that I am about to traverse.

The alley way down to my right seems the quickest route to where I am going, wherever that may be. Even though I can hardly see beyond the light from the lamps, and everything beyond is pitch black, I want to go this way. I walk past the first light and fade, moments later appearing in a complex of flats. Kids, youths, people in ghetto gear, leather, or street clothes hang around the door ways.

They shout at me, calling me over, but it’s raining, and I don’t want to go to them. The rain is making me blind, I can hardly see. I notice that everyone is ok, there is no rain anywhere but on me, and it’s blinding my eyes, everything seems fuzzy in view, and it pains my eyes. A stinging sensation, which creates tears further ruining my site.

I start to turn and run towards wherever I see a gap, but everywhere I run to seems to have the same people. The complex changes, and I seem to going in further and further with every step I take it. I try to look at my hands, but I can’t, they seem to be burning, and as I touch my face they steam and hurt. My nose is running, my eyes are tearful, and my mouth is dribbling. I can’t see, I can’t hear anything but the terenchal rain, I can’t talk because the rain is drowning me, so I have to hold my breath momentarily.

Breathing through my nose inhales the water, making me choke. No one is laughing, they’re just calling me over, and they keep getting closer. I run, as fast as I can, but everywhere I go more people appear, the complex become wider, taller, and looking less likely to provide an exit. They’re waving knives around, chains, chewing gum as the stereotype insists.

He grunted and then hit me hard in the stomach. I coughed, the pain reaching me a few seconds after the impact, but reaching me severely and presently. I look up at this bastard’s face.

Are you OK they ask, can we help you? Fuck off away from me. Stay away and don’t come near me. I’m drowning and I can’t stop it, everytime I run the complex changes and traps me further. There is no exit. Go down that way they say, I have no choice, I can hardly see, and barely find the right path, and it leads me to a darker complex. The wave me in, telling me to go further in. Buildings destroyed, people dead, not like the complex before where it was brand new, all clean, completely safe. Danger, hell, death rings its bell around me.

An old man crawls in front me, from what I can see, he’s chasing a cigarette underneath a car. His body wriggles and writhes, and the cigarette scuttles across the road, the butt showing it’s snake smile, licking the blood and disappearing in to the sewer being chased by the man and woman I saw earlier. Their daughter being dragged behind them, with only her head remaining, nailed to the rope.

Down on my knees, I ask myself how fair I want this. Do I want to get out of this on my own? Do I want help? I can cheat, and I can get out of this nightmare. Yes, I’ll cheat, it just seems a bit dangerous, I want my exit. You can now climb walls, and get to the roof, that way you can see where you are and escape. I want to escape. I’ll do it. They shout at me, telling me it’s the easy way, my eyes clear up and I see the wall in front of me. I climb the wall, my feet seem to stick to it, so I run up the side and get to the top of the roof on the highest complex. I see the world in front of, and all I see is darkness. I look downwards and all I see is darkness.

Sitting down, I watch a film, the opening credits are just starting, and it reads City of Angels starring Al Pacino. The scene is set against heavy rain, flooding the streets. Bang, bang, bang. I hear the noise as the door installer arrives. It’s 11am.