Perspective is a funny thing;
Stirling Thomas, those two words alone were enough to have anyone running in the opposite direction and cowering in fear.
The town has heard all of the rumours, they know he has just been released from prison and they...
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He was home.
I closed my eyes pretending to be asleep.
His scent permeated the room. I recognised the fragrance from the body wash he regularly uses but tonight, like many nights it was blanketed by a thick alcoholic stench.
Keeping my eyes tightly closed, ears strained to listen as sounds of crashing and banging came from all around me. His footsteps were clumsily heavy and he kept mumbling the word "shit" before knocking into something.
When I sensed he had fully walked past, I opened one eye chancing a peek.
He stumbled into the kitchen and emptied his pockets onto the counter.
I'm not talking spare change, gum and a confectionary receipt - I'm talking a black pistol and half a bag of cocaine.
He moved further into the kitchen, now out of sight from me. Really carefully I uncurled myself from the comforter and crept out of the entanglement of Kingsleys limbs.
With silent footsteps moving closer, I could see a pool of light splaying across the tiled floor caused by the refrigerator. A melody informed the room that the door had been left open.
Drunken words came out of his lips but they were gibberish. It would seem he returned back to that cake though, swiping his finger through the frosting and sucking it clean.
