Die Writing

Different spots

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on June 22, 2010


What seems broken, might be so on purpose.

Well anyway

“There was an old man,” he struggled, pressing fingers into his temples, wrinkling the sweaty forehead. “Bald, and with a scraggly beard. It’s dark. Smelled terrible, too.”

Something feels very wrong with this situation. The old man is holding something frightening, though the shadows are hiding exactly what it is. It’s something slick, long, and probably heavy, like a shiny metal pipe. There’s water all over the filthy floor. The window is in the distance somewhere. Dim streetlights are poking through.

“This ain’t the place, youngster.”

The young man, wild-eyed, is clutching desperately at the wall and the door knob. He’s dressed kind of too nice for this place. Goddam junkie, tweaked half-way out of his mind. Always coming through here, useless. Always think it’s fun to go slumming, until someone sells them a bad pill, and they run all over the place. People live here!

“Look, officer, I have no idea how I ended up in there. I was at a party, that’s the last I remember.”

Head hurts, pounds. Everything seems kind of beat up and abused. The air is an unnerving mix of sterile air conditioning and stale sweat that has penetrated every object in the room. It’s sunny outside – you can tell by the light coming through the tiny window, through the iron bars. The cop seems utterly disinterested. He’s just sitting on a chair in the far corner of the room, droning off questions.

“Just tell me what you took. What were people passing around? Describe it to me. You have to remember something.”

Everything starts to taste stale at this point, and things look faded. There’s barely the strength to speak. Even sunshine isn’t welcome – it’s just the sign of yet another night gone by without a single minute of solid sleep. Another night pulling morons out of the gutter. Another round of pointless stories revolving around parties, and someone showing up uninvited, and then things getting out of control, and then someone coming out of nowhere – he came out of nowhere I swear! I swear! Another tale of memory loss. It’s like every night is a worn out copy of the night before.


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