First Chapter: Helpless
Cold.
Everything is cold. The streets, the houses, the light.
When I walk down the alley, next to me some trees, the leaves making silent noises in the wind. The houses quiet as dead, some lights are still on. It must be warm inside there. It is cold out here.
I walk on, my collar high up against the wind.
The street-lamps are burning brightly yellow, shining mysteriously down like fire. A fire burns in me, keeping me warm and cold at the same time. There's a man walking past me with a dog.
Tall, brown hair under a hat, wedding ring is shimmering, freshly married, shaving foam left, his wife's away, probably with her job or family, his eyes are red and watered, non-frequent drug use, jacket is old but washed often, typical middle class. I look away before our glances can meet, uninteresting.
I'm bored while walking, try to think about something else. A fictional world, a fictional story, science fiction. I turn right, waiting at the traffic lights. Reality can be so boring.
My hands are digging deeper into the pocket of my jacket. They touch my cell, little light phone.
The traffic lights show green, I cross the street. Hardly anybody's outside, most people like taking the car in winter. I don't. I like coldness. It matches…to me. I hurry but I have all the time I need.
I tear my scarf tighter.
A police car is rushing by. Nobody takes notice of the people and all the happenings around one, I register everything.
The cops aren't even taking a look aside, only the car, only them, only the crimes that already have happened, not focusing those that will happen. I enter the dark street, no lights shining down, nobody staring out of the windows.
The people are trying to protect themselves, lock themselves up in their flats, the curtains don't show what is going on inside.
Right to me, lower flat, cheap curtains, dried drops, man got violent and hit the woman, she nearly tore the curtain down, it's only hanging half way, a broken piece of glass shimmering under it, on the inside, the window's intact, the man hit her with a bottle, she was bleeding, explains both the red spots of blood and the transparent one of alcohol, probably vodka, not much bottles of alcohol are transparent like the glass fragment.
More people on the streets like before, hanging out in groups, drinking, smoking, dealing. They stare at me, I glimpse at them. Boring. I carry on my way, I've got somewhere to retreat, do they have?
A girl alone there, she eyeballs me, decides to go for it, suddenly jumps into my way. Heavy make-up, darkly surrounded eyes, painted pale facial skin, eyes moving quickly, cheap ecstasy, she's cried recently, make-up wiped away with her right hand, indicated by the uneven make-up on the right cheek and the white-brown stripes on her right sleeve.
"What about a night, cutie?" she whispers with a rough voice, drags unconfidently her cigarette.
She blows the smoke up in the air and tries a smile with lipstick-mouth, color too red. Her legs are small, she doesn't eat much, replaces meals with pills and fags.
"Come with me," I whisper and look around shortly. Nobody's paying attention, nobody will have seen any of us.
Her smile gets bigger, it's faked anyway. She chews on her cigarette, not inhaling deeply.
We walk on together, I walk fast, she follows me. I leave the district, there's a train bridge, we're passing under it. I try not to accidentally step on some homeless. We arrive at a dark place close to the river, the moon's lightening the water. Romantic, crosses my mind, but the word doesn't ring any bell.
She flips away the cigarette, blows the rest of the smoke at my face. Now it is my turn to smile, her eyes are bored, but I seem to be of interested for her, a difference to usual customers, I assume.
"How do you want it?" she asks with her smoky voice and tries to get close to me.
I touch her shoulders and push her away.
I think.
I have a knife in my coat, too easy. She already looks confused, doesn't know what to do. My hands are gliding from her shoulder to her neck. She smiles, thinking I'd try to touch her first.
All kinds of people can be stupid, it doesn't surprise me anymore, no puzzle remains unsolved I hope.
My grip is getting stronger, her brows are raising in surprise, soon turning into concern. My turn to smile. I step forward, my grip is tight, my hands don't tremble.
Her hands are clasping around mine, she tries to pull mine away. "Stop," she coughs but doesn't get enough air to protest.
She can't breathe anymore, her eyes are whining, tears running down her cheeks and my hands and she stumbles backward, falling down with her high-heels. I bend down, my hands clenching her neck harder. "Help," she doesn't speak but her lips are speaking volumes.
"Sh-sh-sh…no one can here you," I hiss. She wants to cough but can't. Her face white as chalk, her hands are losing their grip, she doesn't defend herself anymore.
Her eyes are closed, I stop strangling her, I'm heavily breathing as well, not because it was exhausting, no, it wasn't at all, it was exciting, a kick, but rather turned me on, aroused me, I feel a chill, so hot it is.
My hand lies on her belly, on her mouth, her nose.
A light breath, a slow pulse.
I stand up again. My foot crushing down on her face. Several times.
Blood is covering her pale face. Blood is flowing down, dripping on the stone.
I hear her nose break. I hear her sub-consciousness scream. Helpless. No breath. No pulse.
I stare at the girl.
So silent, so calm, so quiet in the moonlight. I start walking away. My hands are gliding into the pockets of my coat. I don't look back.
This girl is past. Past is not of interest. Present is neither. The future is what counts.
What is my future?
What is his future?
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