Storm clouds carpet the sky, solid and coal black. He shivers on his patch of dry concrete, watching the rainfall in misty sheets. He imagines across the road a figure stands motionless, on the very edges of the neon lights. He imagines the figure's heavy hair, drenched coat, staring with eyes shadowed by the cover of night.
Behind him muffled voices rise and fall like a tide. The distant clink of glasses punctuated by laughter. Out here under the scrutiny of the trees the orchestra is dictated by the overhead wires, rain drumming on cars. He thinks that the pulsing of the electricity matches something swirling under his skin. Tendrils as dark as the clouds.
He shivers, grasping his coat tighter around him. His throat feels raw, like roaches are crawling up from his stomach. They taste a little like bile and cheap muffins.
An engine rumbles to life somewhere, permeating the air with a brief sense of life. It startles him into another deep shudder.
He can sense the figure across the street has moved, but he doesn't dare look up to check. Fear keeps his eyes trained to the mud on his shoes, the small rocks glistening under a sheen of water. Right there, to his left, too close to his ear.
With some effort he shakes the strands of hair from his eyes, peering into the night. Trees bend over the edge of the parking lot, long shadows tinted red by the lights. The absence of any discernible person makes the word crazy run a few laps through his head. He's always alone when he sits out here.
Humoring himself he waves a hand at the trees, "Just me." and he's not sure why he says that.
Lapels of an old coat maybe? That sideways glance that never seems to cease. Always looking, always watching and observing. He think of this figure (figment?) as It, simply because he can. It always felt more otherworldly than human.
Crazy makes another round-about, strong enough he almost says it to himself. You'recrazyyou'recrazy.
"Don't worry, only me in here." He says to the puddle at his feet, considering going inside for another drink.
He thinks, he might be trying to convince himself.
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Scraps of A Mind
General FictionUnder my feet is the earth, above my small form is the sky. Both seem endless and vast, stretching onwards forever. In between these things are thoughts, rattling around in my brain like a landslide with no direction. Here are some thoughts, the one...
