#146a

Sunday Oct 3rd - Morning

It was John's reflection I saw first. A spectral thing in the kitchen window that seemed to emerge from out the storm. I was sitting, staring at the chaos outside, following parts of the neighbour's gardens as they blew by. I didn't acknowledge John but eyed him suspiciously like he was a fake watermark.

“So, it. seems. your. birthdays. not. quite. the. blow-out. we. were. all. anticipating,” said John, “Now. turn. around. I've. got. you. a. surprise!”

I didn't turn around. Instead I held my bandaged hand up over my head. “Another one of these?” I asked, “What will you try today? Burn me? Rape me? Cut my tongue out and stick it in a cake?"

““Ha, no! Something. much. better. than. that... Something. you've. wanted. for. a. while. now... something. you. even. tried. to. coax. out. of. me. with. your. sadistic. little. games. Can. you. guess. what. it. is. yet? Come. on. you. stinking. shitfly, THINK!”

By the time John had finished I was flushed pale with terror. I didn't need to think, I could see his surprise and feel it. It felt like a looming shadow descending over me, and it looked like a paraplegic rising out his wheelchair and getting to his feet. “Happy. Birthday. Tristy, I can. walk! How. about. that. Viennese. Waltz?” And then he started forward and like the storm outside began raging and blowing and smashing and breaking things up. Now it was me who needed help.

5 comments:

  1. Oh god .. grab some oil ... throw it on the floor, and RUN!!!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Aleister Lee DeVille said...
    Looks like you are about to dance,
    with the devil.
    is the moon out?

    ReplyDelete
  3. Ravel's La Valse comes to mind......

    ReplyDelete
  4. Isn't it ironic that when he starts talking like a Dalek he stops moving like one?

    I'm relieved he didn't leave that valuable wheelchair rusting outside in the rain.

    I know from experience (well my nephew does) how damaging a night in the rain can be for a wheelchair.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Reminded me of Little Viennese Waltz by Lorca. It's a poem; dark, sad, a little tragic. Kinda fitting. Ok, not really...
    Take care X

    ReplyDelete

 
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