Not A Happenstance » Alex Turner [On HOLD]

2009: D is for D... ead?

I watched the reflection of my face on the surface of hanging glass racks. I could easily see pool balls hitting into each other just by looking at the mirror behind the bar. Pool table wasn't the only thing I could see; there was this petty boy, a face hidden behind brownish, a bit long hair finely. His finger tapped to the rhythm of the song he couldn't bear to listen to, but found it incredibly catchy. He stared straight at me, with his horse-like, sticky chocolate colored eyes. His name was Alex. Turner, to be more precise. Some unsteady walker with a harsh move brushed his back, and I leaned a bit closer to my beer. I was Alex Turner; just tonight, I expected to be free from my identity and it was working pretty well.

My torn leather stool started becoming a real pain in the ass, and I stirred my hips, trying to fix the situation. I kept on glancing to the mirror facing me, there was a girl closing into the wall, her head lifted up, mouth narrowly open, a cigarette smoke leaving her insides, and I was more than sure, that there was a no-smoking sign nearby her. If I had my blank note, she could get a chance to lay down there in some poetic rhymes. Unfortunately, it wasn't her night. 

My fingers searched throughout my pocket, pulling out several bucks and placed them on the bar underneath my glass. A sigh left my mouth with a bit of beer breath, which was uncommon for me. Nevertheless, sooner than I managed to  bypass some suckers it faded away, and I could still scent savour of cologne soaked into the denim of my jacket. 

 I didn't catch up how the door closed behind me, and actually, it was one of those things we all do in monotone - it's so familiar, we stop reacting to the action. This pub, but more like just an exclusive slum wasn't in the best part of the city. Or perhaps it was, I didn't know. It was one of those, I don't know how I got here, but I might stay places. And I stayed, simply trying to run away. I was frequently away inside my head, creating my own worlds was my kind of bondage, I never wanted to get rid of. 

Cold air crisped on my a bit more than just lacking of a tan; blueish in the street lightning skin, chill bumps started popping all around my back with a cold touch of the fall. It wasn't particularly my time of the year, a nature dying was a trigger to think about changes; the trouble was - I was stuck in one spot of my life.

More than just two louder voices hit me out of my mind. 

"Lad!" 

A guy pointed at me, the only one standing straightly in the middle of the alley. His friends decided to sit down around on some old, greasy looking boxes. 

"Yeah, you." 

I stopped, as his finger beck to come closer. 

I should've felt my heart rising from fear, let my leg muscles tighten. The alcohol in my veins has been just outright enough to put my common sense to sleep and push me further, walk up to the guy.

"A cig?" A boy didn't turn his eyes away from me. 

I shook my head, suddenly releasing my brain out of the sting. What was I thinking about? Go. Go. Go away. GO NOW. My brain screamed right at my scalp, and I finally stepped back. "No, sorry mate."

My jerky step almost made me stumble across a dead branch on the pavement. 

"I can tell you have a pack over .. There." Guy licked his lip rising his eyebrow with an unpleasant mimic getting across his face, when he more than fast got next to me, wrapping his hand around my shoulder and tapped my side. Yes, my cigarettes were there, just like every single day.

Pushing him back from me was something my brain finally managed to make my body do. This was that one time when my brain should've just stayed quiet.

A guy fell down, with his hands hitting into the pavement. Three pairs of legs run closer to me, when fear locked me up inside my body again. I tried to stutter, with my mouth tasting a pure dryness all over my tongue. 

"We wanted to be nice." 

That was the only thing I heard when my back hit the wall, pushing out the air from my lungs, my breathing shuddered. I knew it was wrong, I knew where it was going. I knew where it will end up, when the first fist banged straight into my jaw.

A tirade of them hit me again and again, my legs couldn't stop trembling not for a second, not for a moment until I felt the smell of rotten foods from nearby garbage bins. The time came for their feet, when I found myself being on my fours, trying to  get up. They got me down, every single time. They got me down until it felt like I will puke out my heart straight onto the ground. Seconds would pass and I wouldn't feel a thing, and everything will come back from black, back to misery that just hit me and hit me until I didn't know if I was still there. I begged not to be, when the darkness swallowed me into its' welcoming embrace.

Something woke me up. It wasn't the sun getting into my eyes through the window; it wasn't my phone or even an alarm clock. There was no girl by my side. Only a deep moan coming from my mouth; my fingers touching something stone-cold. It was something metal, I knew. I couldn't grasp it, I couldn't bring myself to any motion. 

"He's conscious." A soft touch went down my cheek.

"Put him back to sleep, surgery is ready for this guy."  The same  touch landed on just below my elbow, a gentle woman's hand made a pain arise underneath my skin. I knew what she was doing, when I tried to keep my eyes concentrated on her movement. She smelled like hand sanitizer. A needle planted into my vein released its' mixture.

And my mouth in the long run took its' job. "Am I dying?"

Her smile was the last thing I saw before she put me in a distract coldness, apparently white this time. White was too cold, too strange. Too dangerous.

I wasn't floating, I wasn't dreaming. It was nowhere close to comforting or welcoming. There was nothing familiar, except that distracted by a panic voice that calmed me down. 

It shouted. "We're losing him. We're losing him."