Bang! - Chapter 2

First of all, let me tell you some things about Philla, things that even I don’t know. Wait! How can I do that? Aahhh! A contradiction! Am I breaking some kind of literary rule here, by explaining things that my character wouldn’t possibly know? No matter.

Philla liked eighties music. Not specific bands – she didn’t prefer say Culture Club to Visage – but more the whole genre of it. She tuned in her clock radio so that the first sounds she would hear in the morning would be something eighties. It soothed her, made her feel nostalgic. Her obsession for eighties music didn’t creep into other aspects of life. She didn’t read eighties books, or wear eighties fashions. She wouldn’t, for instance, be seen dead in a ‘Frankie Says’ t-shirt and legwarmers. In the end though, she would have no say in the matter – for when it came, she would in fact be seen dead in the charred remains of a pink flannelette dressing gown and slippers.

What else? She was the sort of girl that would carry the duvet from the bed around the house with her. She would take it into the living room, where she would settle in front of the TV, and probably spill something on it. She would carry the duvet to the stairs, where she would cocoon herself whilst talking to her best friend on the phone. She would drag it with her when it was time to sit up to the table to eat. It wasn’t even that she was particularly cold or anything, it was more of a comfort thing. Security.

Philla liked to take control of her relationships. Not her friendships, but her proper male/female let’s-have-so-much-fun-that-we-mark-each-other’s-bodies type relationships. She would decide where things were going – whether it was time to get closer, more romantic, or whether it was time for them to fuck off. In nine cases out of ten, it was time to for them to fuck off. But then, that’s teenagers for you.

I’m telling you little things, things that aren’t necessarily relevant to the story. I’m painting you a mental picture of her, and this is the colouring-in bit. The easy bit that normally you should leave until last. I like it this way though, it almost makes me care for her even more. I’m just whetting your appetite, making you want to know her for yourself. She seems more real the more I tell you, doesn’t she?

The final interesting thing to know about Philla was this: she had an older sister, Isabelle. And this is the loose connection with me. I knew Isabelle, therefore I knew her younger sister Philla.

Except that I didn’t know her. Not yet.

Bang! - Chapter 1

The third time Philla saw me, she exploded.

I’m not being metaphorical. We often hear of someone “exploding with emotion” or we read that “he exploded with anger”, but in this case it was much more literal: she simply exploded. In pieces. Within about a fifteen foot radius. There was no warning to this sudden detonation – no ticking, no countdown, just well…bang.

Why am I telling you this? What has it got to do with me? You see, I’m responsible. I’m guilty. It’s all my fault really, I should have seen it coming. But it is fair to say that this time, love actually was blind. I’d willingly hold my hands up, yell “It was me” from the highest rooftop, but to tell you the truth I don’t even feel sorry. Had it been the second time she saw me…well, maybe then, but not now. Now all I feel is a faint tinge of regret and slightly cracked ribs where a portion of her shoulder hit me. Nothing more.

Have you ever fancied someone so much that you treated them badly?

You don’t know what I mean, do you? What I mean is, do you remember that person that you were friends with, but secretly fancied? The old story of the one that wants to be just friends, and you make out that this is in some way a good idea. You go out to pubs and cinemas and things like that, and all the time you’re hoping they will suddenly turn round and say “Hang on! You’re bloody lovely” I’d never noticed you before!”. Of course in the ‘Real World’ this never happens, and instead you follow them round doggedly, trying to please them, and being told that you’re “so nice”. After a while, you become frustrated by this, even annoyed that they haven’t fallen in love with you, or even noticed you in that way. If you saw them with someone else you felt betrayed, despite the fact that you have absolutely no claim on them. And so one day you turn. You snap. You bawl at them for no reason. Perhaps you pick a fault in them, tell them they’ve always been selfish. In short, you treat them badly. Would it be fair to say that you always hurt the one you love, or would it fit better to say that you always hurt the one you’re secretly infatuated with?

What does this seemingly private rant have to do with anything? If we were at a party, would you back away politely to go and get another cheese-and-pineapple-on-a-stick? I’m telling you all this because it’s how we started. Our relationship was only three dates long (and the third was pretty instantaneous – “BANG!”), but in my mind we had been together for years.

You see, really, this isn’t about her exploding, and it doesn’t make any difference that they had to use three separate plastic bags to carry her away. Or that you can still see the stain stretched out across the kerb. No, this is a story about love. The power of love. And that’s where the story starts.

The Journey

The moon is hiding her beautiful face tonight. Her opalescent glory shrouded in thick black cloud. Staring into the night sky I breathe a heavy sigh, sadness washes over me in waves as another sob racks my body, breaking the silence of midnight with the sounds of anguish. I'm unsure how I got here, to this point in my life. My heart is beating rapidly in my chest, two pieces of a once beautiful organ torn apart by loss and loneliness. The pain is excruciating. The cold night air chills me, a frigid wind send goosebumps across my exposed skin. Thunder cracks across the sky and echoes the sound of my breaking heart.

A storm is building. Natures acknowledgement of my grief.

I take another drink. Trying to numb myself with alcohol I wince as the liquid burns my throat.Lightening streaks across the sky, illuminating my surroundings. The heavens open and rain begins to pour. I turn my face upwards, the rain mixes with my tears and slicks back my hair. An involuntary shudder runs through my body. I begin to feel the cold. Protected from the storm by only a thin black silk nightdress that clings to my body like a second skin.

Thunder rolls and the rain beats harder. I take another drink. The bottle is almost empty. My tears have stopped now as I become one with nature. Lying down in the grass, staring into the blackness around me. I'm no longer scared, soon I will not be alone. I watch as the storm rages, my body frozen as I begin my journey. It won't be long now....

Welcome.....

Welcome to ‘Tenebrous Tales’.

It’s a new blog where my friends and I can post short stories, prose and other fictional pieces. If you are unsure what 'Tenebrous' means then the definition is above on the title header. Basically it’s a blog that hopefully will have stories that lean to the darker side of things, after all sweetness and light is very boring indeed. Read on and enjoy the content, it may not be the most fluid or interesting stuff you’ve ever read – but give us credit for trying and sharing our darker imaginations with you!

Stella

My first piece is written in the sense of the nameless character narrating the story, it’s done with an American slant but the actual idea for the story comes from many ideas such as movies, personal experience and a lot of imagination.

I hope you all like it.

....

All the boss did was keep admonishing me and suggest I take a vacation, get away from it all, take a break – so I did.

Countryside retreats, lakes and mountains were never my thing, I was always more at home in a city and by that I mean a city by night. Neon lights festooning the darkness and sleazy back street seedy bars where there were people like me – creatures of the night. That’s what I craved.

Travelling light, I disembarked from the train; the journey had passed without event, only the voices in my music player headphones for company. I hailed a weather beaten cab and headed for the hotel, I lowered the window to breathe in the sea air but it was masked by the smell of fast food restaurants and fumes, bad idea I mused whilst winding the window back up and gazing across at the setting sun hanging there like a cheap bauble.

The hotel was a sleazy back street flop house but that’s how I wanted it; a place to rest my head not some candy arsed joint with room service. After unpacking my few things I took a shower and made a point of dressing down, I wasn’t intending to hit the attractions, I was heading to the bars where real people would be, people with vices, people that were ten time losers like me, places where I could blend in and be left in my moody solitude.

Heading out into the night, the moonlit transition had taken effect, hawkers were trying to foist cheap watches on gullible tourists, pimps plied their trade under drab crimson neon signs and shrill car horns pierced the night time congestion.

I didn’t walk in a particular direction; I lacked purpose and probably looked every inch a tourist despite my dress down garb. Suddenly without warning it began to rain, weighty droplets slammed into my face before it suddenly turned into a deluge, pulling my coat around me I hastily looked for a bolt hole and a place to get a beer. It wasn’t long before I noticed a bar in a secluded alleyway and headed that way from the main street and the chaos of people rushing to find shelter.

Opening the door I was greeted by a wall of smoke and sound, it took my eyes a second to focus to the murky interior; moving to the end of the long bar I flicked my wet fringe away from my eyes and began to look around me. Nobody really acknowledged my entrance; the few melancholy customers seemed pre-occupied with their own hard luck stories or sat with glazed expressions. I signalled the barman and ordered a beer.

‘Something to succour your thirst friend?’ he enquired with a half interested tone

‘A beer’ I replied flatly

Hoisting myself on a stool at the end of the bar I removed my damp coat and handed it to the barman who’d returned with my drink and offered to hang it in a dry place out the back. I scoped the bar, it seemed to be a place of dead beats, losers, truckers and desperado’s that had all seen better days, sipping on my chilled beer I felt like I belonged here already. The music was retro, the décor was decadent, sapphire neon signs hung awkwardly behind the bar and a small circular pole dancing podium graced the corner of the dingy crooked table strewn room.

Time passed and the beer began to relax me, the nostalgic music improved my mood and I exchanged some meaningless conversation with the bartender as I sat away from it all at the end of the bar. More people had ventured in and the place was at least verging on lively, an enthusiastic cheer erupted when a girl adorned in a bikini that looked like it had been thrown on and nearly missed, began to pole dance. Zombie-like the girl circled the pole and went through half risqué motions whilst beer bellied truckers leered at her and made vociferous lewd suggestions.

Then I noticed her through the wispy cigarette smoke at the opposite end of the bar, her face looked pallid in the hazy neon glare, her ghostly visage was framed by shoulder length straight ebony hair and slender spectacles bridged her delicate nose – she half smiled at me as our eyes met. As my eyes lingered on her it was like she was challenging me to look at the dancer gyrating behind her but I wasn’t interested in the characterless stripper, I was drawn to her instead.

Our eyes duelled for a little longer before I pulled away and asked for my coat, I’d had too many beers and the journey had drained me. I cast one last glance her way and gave her the slightest of smiles before heading into the cold rainy night and the harbour front; I needed some sea air after my unexpected encounter.

A deep sleep and a lazy day was what I needed and that’s what I got but the next night I once again braved the lashing rain and headed to the same small backstreet bar. The woman at the end of the bar had been intriguing me all day – I just had to go back to see if she was there.

It was a carbon copy of the night before, with me sat there sipping beers and exchanging small talk with the guy working the bar but this time I was sober and I clocked the dark haired goddess as she glided in. I felt my jaw beginning to drop as I stared at her appraisingly, my interest all too unsubtle and obvious. None of the other goons sat at the bar expressed any interest, they were too busy guzzling beer and waiting for the stripper to make an entrance, but looking at the dark haired vision I could see she must have seemed kind of corporate to them. Tonight she was wearing her spectacles again and a black pinstriped suit that neatly hugged her feminine curves, the white stripes in the suit reflecting the subdued light; she almost appeared to shimmer as she moved.

I needed to get a grip, so deliberately I looked down as she took her seat at the opposite end of the bar, but it was no good. I couldn’t avert my gaze for more than a few seconds, but when I did look she stared back and smiled; I thought my heart was going to stop.

Who was this woman and why was she having such an effect on me?

Then to my astonishment she began to walk over to me, her eyes fixed on me all the time she walked behind the line of inebriates at the bar, she perched lightly on the stool beside me.

‘May I join you?’ she asked softly

I nodded in disbelief and tried to appear confident as she eased fully onto the stool and introduced herself.

‘Hi, I’m Stella, can I get you a drink?’ she enquired with a warm smile that sent my heart reeling

I didn’t want to offend her so I asked for a beer and tried to look relaxed.

‘I’ve not seen you around here before, are you on vacation?’ she enquired

And that was the start of a conversation that went on late into the night; as each minute passed I could feel myself falling deeper and deeper in love with her. She was far more intoxicating than the beer, her dulcet voice, her dark sable hair, her smooth pale complexion, her laughter - everything she seemed to say and do entranced me - and she knew it.

When the bar closed we headed to the long curved harbour and the sea wall overlooking it. The rain had stopped and there was an invigorating chill about the air. A solitary cab would pass us now and again and the neon lights from the buildings reflected on the gloomy waves lapping against the sea wall. To me it seemed a perfect night. Dodging puddles we walked slowly, chatted, laughed and then she held my hand tightly. I was starting to feel somebody again and I don’t mind telling you it felt damn good. I turned to her, watching her dark hair shift slightly with the breeze, we stopped and she hugged me before hailing a cab from the almost empty road beside us.

‘I’ll be there again tonight,’ she said.

Leaning in close she gave my lips the briefest of butterfly kisses and was gone just like an illusion, with a sharp intake of breath I dared a smile even though I still didn’t believe my luck.

I continued my walk, the sea breeze was delicious, my head was swirling and my heart was full of undulating waves of desire.

One day blurred into the next as I spent my time in bed to stay sharp for the nights and my rendezvous’ with Stella. It wasn’t easy to sleep during the day, beer helped but Stella was constantly on my mind. There I lay in a patina of sweat, the cacophony of traffic below me, my mind swimming. What was this woman doing to me?

That night we met as usual again, but instead of staying in the bar we headed to Chinatown to grab some noodles before our usual harbour side walk. As ever I was completely wrapped in Stella, the way she moved, how she spoke, in fact every little gesticulation she made. Tonight she was garbed in a black t-shirt, black jeans and a long dark brown coat that hung just above her crimson converse sneakers. There was something wrong though, she didn’t seem her usual self this night, she seemed strangely subdued. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she placed a finger on my lips to silence them.

‘I can’t see you tomorrow and perhaps for the next few days,’ she said softly yet firmly.

‘But I go home in two days!’ I interjected pulling back slightly.

‘Look, we’ve had fun, let’s not forget that.’ she remarked as she swallowed back and tried to force a smile.

We looked at each other for several moments before Stella leaned in and gave me the longest most passionate kiss I’d ever experienced. I held her tight, my arms circling her svelte waist before moving up her back to hold her even closer to my pounding heart. Then she pulled away and darted into the road to hail a passing cab. She didn’t look back this time, maybe she was upset or perhaps she was hiding something, but she disappeared as swiftly as she always did. My heart sank.

The sound of the sea reached out to me and drew me over to the harbour wall. Leaning on it I sort of wish I smoked, because my hands seemed restless, my throat tight – I could feel tears begin to well up in my eyes. I can’t recall how long I gazed upon the dark sea that night, taking in the air and listening to the soothing sounds of the waves. It would seem that the sea had been my other constant companion on the vacation.

When the next night came around I headed out to the bar again even though Stella said she wasn’t going to be there. The night passed, but I didn’t really have any inclination to drink; my eyes seemed to be constantly looking over at the entrance door. Circling the rim of my beer bottle with my finger I could feel the dour persona I had before the vacation returning, it was then the bartender interrupted me.

‘Listen buddy, I feel I oughta level with you, Stella usually drops by here on her nights off; if you want to find her I suggest you try this place but you may not like what you find.’

With that he gave me a card that said ‘The Regent Escort Lounge’, the address looked to be on the outskirts of town in some shady neighbourhood. After asking the barman for rough directions I headed outside and threw myself into the road to stop the next passing cab oblivious to cars hooting and drivers cursing me. Ten minutes later and I was standing outside of the place on the card, breathing hard and feeling the sweat cascade down the back of my neck. I paid the cab driver and headed inside.

In the opulent foyer I was greeted by a curvaceous blonde woman sporting a skimpy red basque; she demanded an entrance fee before I could enter the lounge behind her. I hastily paid and pushed the doors open, my throat began to contract. There was a plush bar area up ahead, but I hung back in the shadows to survey the scene.

There she was. There was Stella, cavorting in the skimpiest of bikinis on some balding fat businessman’s lap as he wedged money into her bra as she giggled and sipped wine.

Stella was a hooker.

I didn’t watch any longer, neither did I want to cause a scene, why should I? Stella had been something special to me that vacation, something more than a friend.

With a heart of stone I walked in a daze back to the harbour, to the sea.

‘Oh how the sound of the sea comforts.’