Gray Skies

Sharks and Remoras

GrAy SkIeS by Samir Malik

21 Chapters

Chapter 1 Sharks and Remoras

“You alright?”

“Yeah fine” failing miserably to hide the disappointment in my face, an empty smile breaks out.

“Sure?”  She says, with little effort to even pretend she’s concerned because her mind’s not complex enough to process two bits of information at the same time, the other being her shoe size for hiring bowling shoes.

“Yeah I’m gonna shoot off, I got a few things to do” I look down, away and back at her, a trait common to most people hiding information. I’ve always been bad at lying but this fake smile was starting to peel off.

“You sure? She doesn’t wait for a reply “Ok, I’ll let you know about tomorrow” her impatience is beginning to show as physical behavior as she skillfully scores a strike with her number 8 pink ball using her eyes. She gets excited and exits to join the rest of the pack, like a sub on a football reserve bench hoping to score his debut remediate goal for his country. They are 1-1 and only injury time left to redeem themselves.

At the exit of the building, thwarted, I light a cigarette and look around, trying to remember which way I parked my car, a chilly breeze raises the hair on my arm. I pop my denim jacket collar attempting to barricade the flow of the wind tickling the hair on the back of my neck.

Oh yeah…near the Chinese placeI take a left from the bowling complex, looking down with intensity, a sluggish walk as if the weight of my Timberlands was using up my fat reserves to motor my legs.

“Right in front of left, now swing the left in front of the right” an inner monologue of the “how to walk” manual begins.

“22….23…..24...”  The count continues of chewed up, spat out, stepped on, used and abused gum stuck to the ground and between the heavy slabs of concrete pasted together yet leaving a big enough gap for rain water to settle. I carefully scan with my eyes, filtering the statistics by excluding bits of stickers and rotting food from the count.

Its still early, 10.40 in the evening, bright neon lights everywhere, news agents crammed with crummy aggitated customers, as the owners take 5 minutes out of their day smoking outside the shop door in their leather jackets, they stare at me with a strange smug on their face as I walk past, bopping their heads to and fro, probably reinacting the famous “you looking at me?” scene from Taxi driver. Footpaths are filled with people, like a festival of ants on an abandoned piece of bread.

Couples walking around, hand in hand, arms linked, some acting as a remora sucking on a sharks belly pretending to be in a symbiotic relationship. My body failing to remember the laws of biology, the use of the energy release when glucose breaks into smaller molecules yet distinctively recalling physics, gravity, dragging my body closer to the ground. I’m tired, bendy like a rainbow, blue with sorrow, green with envy, red with anger, disheartened, impatient, I use the growing emotions to fuel my leg muscles and kick a stray ginger beer can through two barriers restricting the flow of traffic into an orphan dark alley. I score, the can hitting the side of the curb before stopping but a few yards from where it left, My redemption goal of the night.

My eyes watery from the cold, fingers feel sharp, the tips the shade of blue and red, giving it a colour like a bruised up face from a fight.

Could my emotions be so strong they are trying to seep through my skin?

The car door opens with a gentle creek, the kind you hear from a door of an abandoned cottage in a horror movie. I start my engine, thoughtless with empty feeling inside, worn out, without a care, I drive home.