Post by scruff on Nov 29, 2009 22:03:35 GMT
I know this has been seen before, but seeing this is a new section and the other was in an obscure thread i thought i'd "re-issue" it
Endless Rain. (a short)
Rain like daggers into my heart. Grey skies to perfectly mirror my distant mood. This is summer two thousand and six. Infinite boredom. A tree shimmers lonely through my window. I think of myself in bloom, this rain, this endless rain. I consider my plight, the tree sways cowering from the relentless attack of natures cruelty. Is this rain ever going to cease. I consider walking boldly outside to challenge heaven with outstretched arms. It is but brief consideration. I fall gently downwards staring into the eye of the storm, the storm inside of me fuelled by the poisonous intake of soul destroying malcontent. The bottle almost empty. I see my distorted reflection down the eye of the needle, raging eyes of lethargic reason staring right back at me, vanishing in the slow motion stream of day old malt upon glass towards its welcome host. It is 11-34 am.
Through broken glass I ascend to take on God and all his fucked up reason, barefoot on grass, blood pours from the open wound. I ask the invisible stars "Am I your only son, on hands and knees I bleed for you". I hear the cocophony of muttered rumouring and see the gallery of unconcerned faces behind twitching curtains as I fall back to earth. I laugh merciless and wild. The crowd filter back behind bitter windows.
Full of hate, daytime television replaced by the flames of state of the art Japanese technology and the stench of melting plastic, strangely fascinated by the flickering imagery I sit and stare. Disturbed only by the passing of teenage sex. I stare from the window, sixteen years of strawberry blonde hair perfection, legs of infinite mystery. I dream of those days. Im reminded that never will I hold such beauty again. She disappears from view. I hold her image and make love to it in my mind, later to repeat the process. My first and only lover
The waiting destroys me. Filling my days, when all the talkings done-nothings really been said. Thats the aching truth. I retire upstairs to shine my collection, my pride and only joy. Taking the silver neck of finest American steel between my drying lips I tenderly caress the trigger. One tender loving stroke and all the talking will be over. The voices gone forever.My shaking hand caresses the steel, endless rain battering against the bedroom window interupts the silence. I place the gun down onto the sheets and polish it gently. Every stroke a moments weakness until back into the wardrobe she goes. Maybe we will share another kiss tomorrow. I step outside for the second time today, curtains twitch,tongues ache with tomorrows stories and next weeks memories. My lonliness forgotten for the few hours I spend each day with my friends.
Each night around 7pm we sit on Mick's wall. Somenights we decide to fish upon Gerrards Lodge, it depends on the weather. Todays earlier rain went away around 5. We await Darren joining us denouncing life in his Southern gravelly tones. We wait for our other friends Curly and our writer friend John. Curly will drive us to the water, John will sit back seat and analyse for future masterpieces. Micks next door neighbour Anne with friend Jane join us for a fleeting moment before departing to meet two lucky young punks. Jane smiles sexually at John as the car pulls up, John and Darren decide not to fish tonight I'm driven with visions of their brutal murders as they close the doors to Darrens place, Anne and Jane giggling behind them. Lucky punks indeed. The vision soon passes. We load the car with rods and baskets as we assissinate the character of our chosen friends with jealous spleen venting longingness.
The water looks calm tonight considering the afternoon storms. I cast my float and chosen bait ten feet in front of my chosen peg. Mick and Curly are to my right. Is my imagination telling me that they are choosing to greet me with more sideways glances and whispered half truths than usual? I shout insult with reference to John and Darrens choice of company. Their bitter laughter alerts the attention of the other anglers. We smile at each other knowingly and contentedly. I stare at the waters surface, hypnotic patterns catching my eyes. In each of them an aspect of my life. Heaven opens briefly, brutal hard rains spearing the pond. Along with the fish we retire to safety. Sheltering in the derelict hut behind the pond we see the sun return to the sky. A rainbow appears behind Winter Hill on the distant horizon. I dream of finding new colours and taking polaroid pictures to show to Darren and John. We return to the water, I cast again. My hook tangles and sticks within the surface of a solitary lilipad. I struggle to free it. An impossible task. The float dissappears forever and my rage is undefined. I take the rod in hand splintering it into a thousand tiny fibreglass pieces. My friends and other companions look upon me astonished. The fishing over for tonight.
We return to Micks wall, not a single word spoken on the journey back home. Dusk has fallen and in the light of Darrens window I see the silohuette of Jane's perfect naked body as John pulls her towards him. Mick chooses not to see it and blows cold air onto his steaming coffee. Im boiling inside. Curly drives away leaving us to reflect upon the day, hours pass. Midnight welcomes another day as John leaves Darrens place with the two girls,one either side. Anne smiles innocently at me. Moments later I glance backwards as her bedroom light flickers into use. Behind pink curtains I picture her writing her diary and dream she will write about me. Darren joins us on the wall as John walks Jane home. He tells us of the nights events and we pretend we dont believe him.
When all the talkings done we call it a night. With what could be the last goodbye. I return to to empty bottles and broken television sets to compete with my terminal boredom. Switching on the radio I hear "live forever" by Oasis, reminding me of last years concert that everyone still talks about. A concert attended by everyone but me. I feel all alone. I switch off the radio. I hear the distant argument of marital discord from the house next door. The barking of a dog on the needle spread playing fields and the revving of engines from the drug chalet at the end of the row. The phone rings. A voice cackles satanic vulgarities at me. I go to replace the handset. It is already there. I tell the voices to stop as I rock backward and forwards upon my bed. Insomnia strikes its mortal coil. I pace around my madness barking insults at its twisted reflection. I switch the radio back on, the pounding rythms of drum n bass encompassing my insanity. I hurl the radio through the window without first unplugging it, sparks fly,glass smashes. Its 3-16am. I'm surrounded by sychophants,hypocrits and the desperate few. I decide its time to barter with the moon. The moon isnt listening, it just smiles its illuminating wisdom highlighting my figure at the shattered window. I see the bedroom lights of the Apathenian royals switching on like a neon snake. Someone shouts me down, another hurls impurities from mocking lips. I close the curtains for the endless rain to attack me through the jagged glass. A puddle forms on the barely carpeted floor.Its so cold. Voices urge me on. Defenceless I walk the lonely length of the bedroom. I open the wardrobe door
Endless Rain. (a short)
Rain like daggers into my heart. Grey skies to perfectly mirror my distant mood. This is summer two thousand and six. Infinite boredom. A tree shimmers lonely through my window. I think of myself in bloom, this rain, this endless rain. I consider my plight, the tree sways cowering from the relentless attack of natures cruelty. Is this rain ever going to cease. I consider walking boldly outside to challenge heaven with outstretched arms. It is but brief consideration. I fall gently downwards staring into the eye of the storm, the storm inside of me fuelled by the poisonous intake of soul destroying malcontent. The bottle almost empty. I see my distorted reflection down the eye of the needle, raging eyes of lethargic reason staring right back at me, vanishing in the slow motion stream of day old malt upon glass towards its welcome host. It is 11-34 am.
Through broken glass I ascend to take on God and all his fucked up reason, barefoot on grass, blood pours from the open wound. I ask the invisible stars "Am I your only son, on hands and knees I bleed for you". I hear the cocophony of muttered rumouring and see the gallery of unconcerned faces behind twitching curtains as I fall back to earth. I laugh merciless and wild. The crowd filter back behind bitter windows.
Full of hate, daytime television replaced by the flames of state of the art Japanese technology and the stench of melting plastic, strangely fascinated by the flickering imagery I sit and stare. Disturbed only by the passing of teenage sex. I stare from the window, sixteen years of strawberry blonde hair perfection, legs of infinite mystery. I dream of those days. Im reminded that never will I hold such beauty again. She disappears from view. I hold her image and make love to it in my mind, later to repeat the process. My first and only lover
The waiting destroys me. Filling my days, when all the talkings done-nothings really been said. Thats the aching truth. I retire upstairs to shine my collection, my pride and only joy. Taking the silver neck of finest American steel between my drying lips I tenderly caress the trigger. One tender loving stroke and all the talking will be over. The voices gone forever.My shaking hand caresses the steel, endless rain battering against the bedroom window interupts the silence. I place the gun down onto the sheets and polish it gently. Every stroke a moments weakness until back into the wardrobe she goes. Maybe we will share another kiss tomorrow. I step outside for the second time today, curtains twitch,tongues ache with tomorrows stories and next weeks memories. My lonliness forgotten for the few hours I spend each day with my friends.
Each night around 7pm we sit on Mick's wall. Somenights we decide to fish upon Gerrards Lodge, it depends on the weather. Todays earlier rain went away around 5. We await Darren joining us denouncing life in his Southern gravelly tones. We wait for our other friends Curly and our writer friend John. Curly will drive us to the water, John will sit back seat and analyse for future masterpieces. Micks next door neighbour Anne with friend Jane join us for a fleeting moment before departing to meet two lucky young punks. Jane smiles sexually at John as the car pulls up, John and Darren decide not to fish tonight I'm driven with visions of their brutal murders as they close the doors to Darrens place, Anne and Jane giggling behind them. Lucky punks indeed. The vision soon passes. We load the car with rods and baskets as we assissinate the character of our chosen friends with jealous spleen venting longingness.
The water looks calm tonight considering the afternoon storms. I cast my float and chosen bait ten feet in front of my chosen peg. Mick and Curly are to my right. Is my imagination telling me that they are choosing to greet me with more sideways glances and whispered half truths than usual? I shout insult with reference to John and Darrens choice of company. Their bitter laughter alerts the attention of the other anglers. We smile at each other knowingly and contentedly. I stare at the waters surface, hypnotic patterns catching my eyes. In each of them an aspect of my life. Heaven opens briefly, brutal hard rains spearing the pond. Along with the fish we retire to safety. Sheltering in the derelict hut behind the pond we see the sun return to the sky. A rainbow appears behind Winter Hill on the distant horizon. I dream of finding new colours and taking polaroid pictures to show to Darren and John. We return to the water, I cast again. My hook tangles and sticks within the surface of a solitary lilipad. I struggle to free it. An impossible task. The float dissappears forever and my rage is undefined. I take the rod in hand splintering it into a thousand tiny fibreglass pieces. My friends and other companions look upon me astonished. The fishing over for tonight.
We return to Micks wall, not a single word spoken on the journey back home. Dusk has fallen and in the light of Darrens window I see the silohuette of Jane's perfect naked body as John pulls her towards him. Mick chooses not to see it and blows cold air onto his steaming coffee. Im boiling inside. Curly drives away leaving us to reflect upon the day, hours pass. Midnight welcomes another day as John leaves Darrens place with the two girls,one either side. Anne smiles innocently at me. Moments later I glance backwards as her bedroom light flickers into use. Behind pink curtains I picture her writing her diary and dream she will write about me. Darren joins us on the wall as John walks Jane home. He tells us of the nights events and we pretend we dont believe him.
When all the talkings done we call it a night. With what could be the last goodbye. I return to to empty bottles and broken television sets to compete with my terminal boredom. Switching on the radio I hear "live forever" by Oasis, reminding me of last years concert that everyone still talks about. A concert attended by everyone but me. I feel all alone. I switch off the radio. I hear the distant argument of marital discord from the house next door. The barking of a dog on the needle spread playing fields and the revving of engines from the drug chalet at the end of the row. The phone rings. A voice cackles satanic vulgarities at me. I go to replace the handset. It is already there. I tell the voices to stop as I rock backward and forwards upon my bed. Insomnia strikes its mortal coil. I pace around my madness barking insults at its twisted reflection. I switch the radio back on, the pounding rythms of drum n bass encompassing my insanity. I hurl the radio through the window without first unplugging it, sparks fly,glass smashes. Its 3-16am. I'm surrounded by sychophants,hypocrits and the desperate few. I decide its time to barter with the moon. The moon isnt listening, it just smiles its illuminating wisdom highlighting my figure at the shattered window. I see the bedroom lights of the Apathenian royals switching on like a neon snake. Someone shouts me down, another hurls impurities from mocking lips. I close the curtains for the endless rain to attack me through the jagged glass. A puddle forms on the barely carpeted floor.Its so cold. Voices urge me on. Defenceless I walk the lonely length of the bedroom. I open the wardrobe door