ISAAC
The steps under my feet are wobbly, and they turn and turn an turn, just like my head. It's dark – one lamp gloomily shines through the darkness, the shine flickering and moving like a monstrous firefly, my head hurts. The light blurs and dances, and comes nearer. My feet don't follow my orders anymore. A wall hits my back – someone lulls a word – is it me? Something inside of me wants to scream and writhe, but my head – my head is so foggy – the alcohol coursing through my veins with numb fire. I cannot control my thoughts anymore, and the ground keels sideways. The light flickers, down the stairs, the smell of piss and dust following it – then it comes closer – there is a man next to me. He is blonde, and tall, and has eyes like ice-splinters. He is pretty, pretty like a fire that consumes a city, pretty like ash falling to the ground. His face floats towards me, I stumble over something on the floor. Words leave my mouth without me forming them.
And then they throw me to the ground. Dirt and the smell of it fill my mouth, someone holds me down, a foot lands between my ribs. Voices yell at me, the cries of monstrous, dark birds - and I can hear myself screaming, screaming out for anyone - the light flashes and turns and flickers wildly, leaving zig-zag-lines in the empty air.
And then it goes out.
YOU ARE READING
Two Loves
Historical Fiction1892, London - Isaac Haywood and his twin sister Cymbeline could not be more different. He is a painter with a weakness for Byron, Greek mythology and dramatic outbursts, she a journalist that wears suits and talks more nonsense than is good for her...
