Und der Haifisch, der hat Zähne
und die trägt er im Gesicht
und Macheath, der hat ein Messer,
doch das Messer sieht man nicht.
The man waits in the shadows of the alley, watching the people in the street pass by. Although it is late, the street is crowded. Groups of revellers wearing brightly-coloured finery make their way along the pavement, singing and laughing as they go. They weave their way through each other, their ranks opening and closing, like shoals of tropical fish.
Something attracts the man's attention - some change in the rhythm of the crowd. He watches closely. In the street, a group of young men are talking loudly, gesticulating at each other. One of them is walking in a different way from the others, looking from side to side. The man in the shadows retreats into the darkness. Perhaps this one?
Und es sind des Haifischs Flossen
rot, wenn dieser Blut vergießt
Mackie Messer trägt 'nen Handschuh
drauf man keine Untat liest.
The young man calls out to his friends, "Hang on lads! I need a slash!" His companions give him a rousing cheer.
"Get a move on!"
"Can't you wait?"
"We'll see you at the King's Men!"
The rest of the group continue their drunken parade down the street, leaving the young man behind. He staggers towards the alley, looking for somewhere private to relieve himself. A few yards down the entry is dark enough to give him the privacy he requires. He unzips his fly and begins to spray the stinking wall. His senses are so dulled that he does not hear the footsteps behind him, neither does he hear the sound of the razor cutting through the air. He only has time to register a sharp sensation across his throat before oblivion takes him.
An der Themse grünem Wasser
fallen plötzlich Leute um
Es ist weder Pest noch Cholera,
doch es heißt: Mackie geht um.
The man in the shadows wipes the blood from the blade of his weapon. He takes a moment to hold it up to the light, to check that it is clean. Satisfied that there is no trace of tissue upon the metal, he folds it up and returns it to his pocket. Then he walks down the alley, vanishing into the shadows.
Und die einen sind im Dunkeln
und die anderen sind im Licht
Doch man sieht nur die im Lichte,
die im Dunklen sieht man nicht.
YOU ARE READING
Diseased Jottings From A Random Mind
Short StoryA collection of short stories and random thoughts, covering various genres and tropes. Expect the unusual.
