P. Bateman
Vet
- Joined
- Mar 21, 2009
- Messages
- 1,113
The ominous sky looms above him like an omnipotent being looking down upon him from the heavens, judging him for his countless sins. The darkness of the night envelopes him like the malignant wings of a malevolent bat.
He ducks into an alley so devoid of light the darkness seethes into his every orifice, choking him with it?s great density. What light there is offers no comfort for it splays across the walls conjuring up images of all the demons of hell let loose on earth to commit their unquenchable atrocities.
He enters a near by tavern to escape the phantoms who seem so hell bent on his ruin. He is immediately accosted by the smells of urine and human excrement, so foul that a staggering vertigo over takes him and he must sit down so as not to fall.
As his mind clears and he becomes more accustom to the redolent reek, he spies at the far side of the establishment a exquisite light among all the darkness. A woman so beautiful and out of place he can only assume he is looking through to an alternate universe.
An angel among demons she sits on a barstool in a seedy pub with the dredges of the earth; among malcontents and ne'er-do-wells.
An outsider may believe her to be out of place among this horde; however, she feels more at ease here than anywhere else in the world.
She throws back her nip of whiskey with a quick gulp and chases it with stale beer. She inhales deeply the cool blue smoke of her cigarette. An overwhelming boredom sets in and she feels completely impartial to her condition, when a stranger staggers into the bar.
She?s immediately intrigued by the stranger.
It?s not that he is incredibly attractive, he?s not. Though one can discern a muscular physique under the bulk of his clothing, he is too beaten down, too broken to be construed as attractive. His eyes however are glacial, so blue, yet so dark. Like the depths of the deepest oceans; and so troubled, like the burden of a million lives have been set upon his shoulders.
She is compelled, drawn to him in a way she has never been drawn to another man. Men to her are puppets, things for amusement. And like a child?s toy, once done with, were tossed aside. She could not define what she felt, or why she felt it, but all at once she knew, she must have this man.
As she approaches him she is shocked to find that she feels apprehension; the slightest fear. It excites her. She is not used to fear. She has done too much and seen too much; fear was an emotion she very seldom felt; much like love, it readily escaped her. It was his eyes, they glared at her, threatening to consume her. She felt that glare down to the very marrow of her being, tugging her nearer.
As she nears closer to him she can see more clearly the rugged features of a face that may at one time been hansom but are now too deeply lined, too weather beaten and blistered. A scar extends from his left ear down to the base of his chin, cicatricial tissue up to a quarter inch thick at some parts, bluish purple, appears to be pulsating. Even in the dim light of the tavern the wound is considerably visible and she finds herself wondering how one could acquire such a macabre looking brand.
?Hello? she says.
The man looks up uninterestingly at the woman, then places his attention back to the soiled finger nails of his left hand -picking the filth out from under them with an equally defiled nail of his opposite hand- and says nothing.
Taken aback by this mans indifference towards her she asks, ?would you like some company?.
The man again gazes up at her for what seems an eternity, scratches the stubble of his chin, and replies brusquely, ?I?m afraid I would make for poor company?.
His voice is gruff and distorted by years of drinking strong spirits and smoking even stronger tobacco, as if he had spent years ingesting shards of glass.
The smell emanating from the man is something between the fetid corruption of the city streets and the musky odour of a feral animal, a smell she doesn?t find altogether unpleasant.
He ducks into an alley so devoid of light the darkness seethes into his every orifice, choking him with it?s great density. What light there is offers no comfort for it splays across the walls conjuring up images of all the demons of hell let loose on earth to commit their unquenchable atrocities.
He enters a near by tavern to escape the phantoms who seem so hell bent on his ruin. He is immediately accosted by the smells of urine and human excrement, so foul that a staggering vertigo over takes him and he must sit down so as not to fall.
As his mind clears and he becomes more accustom to the redolent reek, he spies at the far side of the establishment a exquisite light among all the darkness. A woman so beautiful and out of place he can only assume he is looking through to an alternate universe.
An angel among demons she sits on a barstool in a seedy pub with the dredges of the earth; among malcontents and ne'er-do-wells.
An outsider may believe her to be out of place among this horde; however, she feels more at ease here than anywhere else in the world.
She throws back her nip of whiskey with a quick gulp and chases it with stale beer. She inhales deeply the cool blue smoke of her cigarette. An overwhelming boredom sets in and she feels completely impartial to her condition, when a stranger staggers into the bar.
She?s immediately intrigued by the stranger.
It?s not that he is incredibly attractive, he?s not. Though one can discern a muscular physique under the bulk of his clothing, he is too beaten down, too broken to be construed as attractive. His eyes however are glacial, so blue, yet so dark. Like the depths of the deepest oceans; and so troubled, like the burden of a million lives have been set upon his shoulders.
She is compelled, drawn to him in a way she has never been drawn to another man. Men to her are puppets, things for amusement. And like a child?s toy, once done with, were tossed aside. She could not define what she felt, or why she felt it, but all at once she knew, she must have this man.
As she approaches him she is shocked to find that she feels apprehension; the slightest fear. It excites her. She is not used to fear. She has done too much and seen too much; fear was an emotion she very seldom felt; much like love, it readily escaped her. It was his eyes, they glared at her, threatening to consume her. She felt that glare down to the very marrow of her being, tugging her nearer.
As she nears closer to him she can see more clearly the rugged features of a face that may at one time been hansom but are now too deeply lined, too weather beaten and blistered. A scar extends from his left ear down to the base of his chin, cicatricial tissue up to a quarter inch thick at some parts, bluish purple, appears to be pulsating. Even in the dim light of the tavern the wound is considerably visible and she finds herself wondering how one could acquire such a macabre looking brand.
?Hello? she says.
The man looks up uninterestingly at the woman, then places his attention back to the soiled finger nails of his left hand -picking the filth out from under them with an equally defiled nail of his opposite hand- and says nothing.
Taken aback by this mans indifference towards her she asks, ?would you like some company?.
The man again gazes up at her for what seems an eternity, scratches the stubble of his chin, and replies brusquely, ?I?m afraid I would make for poor company?.
His voice is gruff and distorted by years of drinking strong spirits and smoking even stronger tobacco, as if he had spent years ingesting shards of glass.
The smell emanating from the man is something between the fetid corruption of the city streets and the musky odour of a feral animal, a smell she doesn?t find altogether unpleasant.
