Dark Dream

1. Davo & Spud - Hello World

Davo settled down to the relative warmth of the multi-story car-park.

Only a mild chill crept through into his sleeping bag, from the thick cardboard and concrete beneath.

He hardly felt it though.

The cheap wine and cider sent a warm glow, whether real or imagined, through his aching body.

He felt like a king, and was almost happy, when his peace was broken.

"What you lookin' at!?" The voice was grating and full of worms.

"Fuck off!" Davo hissed, his mind slowly and reluctantly coming out of its memory induced stupor to deal with the new but familiar threat.

He brought a hunting knife out of his sleeping bag, just enough to make the blade and part of his hand visible. "I ain't lookin' at nothin'."

It worked. Spud gave a grunt, spat in his general direction, and then turned his attention back to the open bottle that he held, as if it somehow held the mysteries of the known universe. Davo wondered what future Spud perceived in the crystal ball of his chosen beverage. Not much, he bet. No better than the present or past. Worst, maybe. Lady luck seldom passed their way, of late. Though both still hoped she'd call around just one more time. Just to say hello, if nothing else.

The fragile truce could dissolve any minute; such was the way between them, of late. They'd had good times together, many moons ago, but had since fallen out of favour with each other. They'd not fallen out over a woman, but over the less feminine shape of a bottle of Frosty Jack, a cheap white cider that many of them drank.

Tonight, Spud drank White Lightening, another white cider that reminded Davo of a liquid gas; such was its chemical taste. It was the pits and always put Spud in a bad mood.

He didn't like the thought of beating the shit out of his once good friend, but he was slowly coming round to the idea.

The spark of murderous intent was growing within him, and he often had to walk away for fear of what he might do.

Spud, having won on points, would jeer at him and grow in bravado. The further he got from him, the louder the insults.

It's a shame it had come to this, he thought, as he put his knife back in his sleeping bag.

His chance of a quiet night slowly receded. His beard felt itchy, as did the rest of him. His feeling of warmth had turned into a feeling of desolation and restlessness.

He looked again at Spud's frail form and stooped back. Suddenly he felt sorry for him. They'd both felt tense tonight, for some reason. A storm's-a-coming, he thought, as he sniffed at the air like a bloodhound.

A chill ran down his spine and he decided he needed the feeling of friendship to distract himself from the change he felt all around.

Looking over at his once-dear-friend, he felt that the world was like an hourglass, with its last few grains tumbling through. "Do you have a drop to spare?"

"Sure," Spud said, without turning around, he casually lifted the bottle off the floor and tossed it his way as if giving up on glimpsing any prospect of a future.

Davo climbed out of his bag.

Perhaps, they could patch up their differences while the others were away. It would serve them both well to get on better.

In the whole world, they had none else but themselves.