Streetlight Silhouettes - Glass In Gutter

 Another taste of Streetlight Silhouettes. Should really start posting more complete pieces in order though but I really like this one.

Glass In Gutter

The dim lights of Clube Noir cast a shadow across Sebastian's features as he downed another glass before sliding it across the bar to join his other empties; he'd lost count of how many and didn't really care. Leaning back on his stool, he closed his swollen eyes and tightened his grip on the counter as he stuggled to steady himself. A breeze across his face, as the door swung open, gave a slight reprieve to the war going on inside his head. Breathing in deep, he detected the smell of a perfume he knew, a smell that could bring a tear to his eye. He kept his eyes shut, even in his desire to see her so near him.

Reyna came up behind him, running her fingers through his hair, he bit his lip, loving and hating her touch at the same time. She moved her lips close to his neck. He could feel her breathe and held his own.

“Open your eyes,” she whispered. His knuckles whitened against the dark surface of the counter. He kept his eyes shut. Her fingers slipped away and he craved them instantly. He opened his eyes as much as the swelling would allow.

She sat on the stool next to him, seemingly oblivious to the near indecent hemline of her dress. She slipped out a cigarette from a silver case, but didn't light it right away. “You know, when I saw you, the first thing I felt was hope, as if you were the person I needed to get me out of this hellhole,” she paused a minute, looking over Sebastian, unsatisfied with his response she continued, “Hope is a silly thing and I was foolish to think someone out there could be my prince charming, and sweep me away. I was so caught up in my fairy tale I didn't realize what I was looking at, “ Sebastian twitched just a little and she turned to face him, “I see you now for what you really are too late and now the last person I had left to trust is dead.” Reyna's hands trembled, flipping the cigarette between her fingers. He wanted to it take from her, put it aside and hold her hands in his, but he knew she'd never let him touch her. He wanted to speak but had no right. She was right, Adele was dead because of him. He wished he could speak, let her know just how he felt, but he had no words.

“You're quiet tonight. You used to be full of sarcastic wit. I could never tell if I loved or hated it. Now, I daresay, I miss it.” The cigarette was still, resting against her finger tips. He wished she'd light it and be done with it. The bartender slid another drink across the table and Sebastian reached for it. Reyna reached stopped his hand with her own, gripping his tight. “Don't you dare block me out, me and your guilt and shame because that's all you could ever do. You were never happy with anything. I didn't know what you're expectations were but damn I tried to be your everything, and all I can say is I wasted my time.” She rose to leave, placing the silver cigarette case on the bar, the one he had given her, and the cigarette she had held on top. “Enjoy your poison,” was the last thing she said to him as she left Clube Noir.

***

Sebastian left the bar, attempting to maintain a little dignity holding his head held high. It didn't last. Within steps he was slouched against a glass-windowed store front featuring a million displays of Claire Sevier, waving and smiling, the only person left in this town that would wave or smile to him. He smiled, as much as his beat-up face would allow, she was everything he hated about himself, the City, and the choices he had made. He mustered up the strength to stand and stumbled down the street a little more before collapsing to his knees. Some ladies of the night passed him by, not even glancing his way. Catching site of his reflection on some broken glass in the gutter, he felt nauseated. He felt the cuts over the bridge of his nose, which looked broken. He boasted two black-eyes, reduced to slits and bloodshot. His lips were swollen and dry blood trickled down his chin. Even through the night's consumption of alcohol he tasted blood. His stomach churned and all he could to was give in to the gut-got wrath of overindulgence.

***

With more difficulty than usual, he picked the lock and let himself into Shelton's home. Shelton, he knew, would be out late tonight. It was cold inside, but that may have just been Sebastian's perception. As he pushed the door shut, before he could stop himself, he broke into a fit of sobs. He felt helpless, hopeless, broken, beaten. Forcing himself to stand he made his way to the bathroom to clean away the dirt, blood, and retch plastered on his face. He glanced in the mirror, knowing he looked disgusting, but not near as disgusted as he felt. He pressed the clean white cloth to his face, attempting to wash away not just a night's but a lifetime's worth of indescretions.

Shelton reached the front door, finding it unlocked, he opened it, seemingly without concern. Even the mix of blood and dirt on the door didn't phase him. Instead he entered as he normally would, hanging up his coat per usual and placing his keys in their proper place. He crossed over to the bathroom and leaned in the doorway, back to the beam. “Meet me in the living room in twenty minutes. Shower first,” was all he said before pulling the door shut.

In the living room, Shelton arranged the bottle he had purchased for this very occasion, one glass, and an ashtray, on the surface of his English walnut coffee table.

He walked over to the deck and stepped outside, breathing in the crisp night air. Adele used to love the deck. They used to sit there together and talk. He never really talked much. He had always perfered to listen. With Adele he talked. He talked of everything he had ever wanted to say but lacked the courage or the words to express. With her it was easy, natural. He watered the roses, her roses, that grew around, the deck, winding their thorny fingers over the metallic surface. White roses; she loved them most. They were a symbol of hope and new beginnings, simple yet beautiful even if outshone by the passionate red. He heard Sebastian leave the bathroom and went inside.

Sebastian sat in his customary seat, the bottle, glass, and ashtray in front of him. He raised an eyebrow questionigly, having never seen a bottle of alcohol or ashtray at Shelton's before.

“What is this? What the fuck is this?” He asked. “These aren't yours.” Shelton stepped forward with the backs of his hands raised, black X tattoos clearly visible. He lowered his hands and sat across from Sebastian.

“They're for you to enjoy your poison.” Sebastian stared back at Shelton, hearing the very last words he's wanted to hear, come from his former friend's mouth. Shelton gave him an icy look, emphasized his new found palour. Sitting across from Sebastian was a ghost, as deathly white as the roses in the vase next to Adele's photo.

Shelton stood and walked over to a sidetable protected by a velvet cloth from an assortment of surgical instruments. Sebastian, with quivering hands, poured himself a drink. Shelton ran a finger across one before picking it up, examning it and then carelessly replacing it. Sebastian watched his every move. Shelton walked over to the phone to make a call that would never be answered, Adele's number. He let the ringing permeated the tension-heavy air before returning to his instruments. Sebastian flinched with every ring. He pulled out his cigarettes, glancing over at Shelton, whose back was turned, before lighting one. Shelton had selected one of the instruments and as he did a slight smile flitted its way into his features, a nasty caricature. Sebastian struggled with his cigarette. Shelton held the instrument in his hand as he returned to his place across from Sebastian. He put the metal contraption on the table. Sebastian put down his lit but unsmoked cigarette and looked up at Shelton. Shelton walked around to Sebastian's side of the table, picked up the bottle and emptied the contents on Sebastian. He picked up the cigarette and held it near Sebastian.

“If I don't do this now, you know these things will kill you sooner or later.”

I'm turning this into a screenplay titled Smile Psycho.

Poisoned Flowers 

            Damien blocked out the memories of holding his mother's hand while she browsed through the displays looking for the perfect bargain, as he walked past the boarded up and graffitied store fronts. He  typically didn't mind graffiti and every now and then found an appreciation for some of the artwork but not here—He couldn't call this art. Scrawled across most of the buildings in this town were the insignias of the many street gangs that plagued this town. He looked up at the overcast sky above him and prayed for rain to wash the streets clean again, the way he wanted to remember them.

           

            There was a side street up ahead which he turned onto. The address he had been given was at the end of the block. He passed by a fire-damaged building which was once the apartment of a childhood friend. He guessed the building had been converted into a meth-lab. 

           

            The building belonging to the address he had been given was a lot tidier looking than the others on the street. The front door had been given a new coat of black paint which stood in stark contrast to the peeling green of the other doorways. Standing near the doorway was a large gruff man and a thin one leaning against a rail and smoking a cigarette. Damien approached the door, undaunted by the men seemingly guarding it. 

            “I don't know you and nobody gets in who I don't know,” said the thin man.

            “No shit,” said Damien, “I'm not from around here, now if you'll excuse me I have business with someone with a lot more authority than you here.”

            “Still not letting you in. I bet you're armed.”

            “Have to be to walk in these streets.”

           

            The door opened behind the thin man and a woman appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a tight black dress and had a tattoo of a dagger entwined in a rose bramble with three blossoms—red, white, and black.

            “You're here to see Aiden?” She asked.

            “Yes,” answered Damien.

            “I'll let him know you're here. Your name please.”

            “Damien.”

            “Just Damien, no last name.”

            “He'll know who I am.” Without another word she pulled away from the door and shut it, leaving Damien alone once more in the company of the two men. The slim man pulled out a cigarette and lit it, his narrowed eyes fixed on Damien.

           

            “So, Big Guy,” Damien said to the large man, “don't say much now do you.”

            “He's a mute,” said the slim man, “go on show 'im your tongue.” The large man opened his mouth to show Damien his tongue had been cut clean out. 

            “How original,” thought Damien, “Aiden's got some hot chick for a secretary and skinny dude with an attitude problem, mute thug doormen duo. He's really getting into this whole nineteen-twenties gangster thing. What a loser.” The door opened again and the woman reappeared.

            “Please follow me,” she said to Damien. He stepped over the threshold into the entrance hall. It was shabbily furnished and dimly lit but he could clearly see the woman in front of him.

            “Do you have a name?” he asked her as they climbed the stairs.

            “I go by DaggerRose,” she repiled.

            At the top of the third floor they walked down hallway to the last door on the left.  “This is Aiden's office, “ she said, opening the door for him and then disappearing into the gloom of the hallway.

            Damien walked into the room and blinked quickly to adjust to the intense change of light. The room had two large windows with the curtains pulled open, flooding the room with light. Aiden was sprawled non-nonchalantly on an ornate sofa on the left side of the room, smoking a foreign cigar. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up and his pants were immaculately ironed. There was a lingering odour of shoe polish and a distinct gleam in his scuff-free shoes. He also wore a black waistcoat from which a tiny gold chain protruded from a pocket. On the English-walnut coffee table sat a silver tray, on which rested a crystal decanter and two glasses.

           

            “Ah, Damien, old-friend. Come in and have a seat.”

He gestured to a nearby armchair. Damien sat on the indicated chair positioning it so that he could keep an eye on both the door and Aiden.

            “Still paranoid I see or are you hoping DaggerRose might show up again? She's certainly a fine                   one.”

            “Please don't tell me you asked me to come out here just to showcase the various women in                       your employ or watch you play nineteen-twenties gang boss.”

            “Cranky as always. Lighten up, have a drink.”

            “No thanks. Excuse me if walking these streets doesn't put me in a bright and cheery mood.”

            “No seriously, have a drink. You'll feel oh so much better.”

            “I'll pass. Now could we cut the small talk and get to the reason why I'm here.”

            “Well if you insist. As you're already aware you have quite a substantial debt owed to me."

            "I honestly wouldn't be here otherwise."

            "Glad to know you're always willing to help a friend in need. As I was saying I'm collecting on a portion of that debt."

            "Portion? That's not how it works. It's all or none."

            "My debt, my conditions."

            "You know, you're more of an asshole every time I see you."

            "I try to be civil, offering you a chance to repay me, even offering you some of my best whiskey and this is how you behave. Seriously, who is more of an asshole?"

            "Just tell me what you need done."

            "What I need is a little reconnaissance work which I understand is your speciality."

            "Yeah I'm a Goddamn ninja."

            "Always with the attitude. What I want is to know the plans of a few of the rival gangs around here. Black Shadow specifically, which I believe are located in the Riverside District, an area  you are no doubt familiar with."

            "Oh you son of a--

            "And you say I'm the one lacking in civility. Please, Damien. I aim to be a man of the people."

            "Then do yourself a favour and get a rather nifty hat. Might add some credibility."

            "Now why didn't I think of that. Every man needs a fine hat. I'd offer you accommodations but i doubt you'd accept."

            "You're absolutely right I will not accept. I've got somewhere I'm staying."

            "Then I trust you can see yourself out. I'll contact you again at a later date."

            "I won't look forward to it."

             Damien rose from his chair and left the room, on his way out he noticed DaggerRose leaning       against a wall nearby. As he approached she took his hand and pulled him into an adjoining             room.

           

            "Why are you here?" She asked him.

            "That's between Aiden and myself. If that's all you're asking then I'll be leaving." She tightened               her grip on his wrist.

            "You could be a good person. I can see it in you."

             He looked up at her. In this light he could see her eyes were green. He dropped his gaze.

            "I proved I wasn't a long time ago and I'm not looking for redemption." Damien pulled free of             DaggerRose's grip and turned to leave. She watched him go.

            "You know I could help you. I know you're not like him. You're not cruel and heartless like                        him," she called after him as he took the stairs down to the front door.

            "Crazy bitch," he thought, lighting a cigarette as he walked down the street.

            Damien climbed the fire escape to a warehouse he and some friends used to hang out in when they still lived in this town. The lower floors were full of debris from a flood that had hit the area years ago and it had since become overrun with plant life. The fire escape was the only way to access the upper floors and the lower half of the stairway had been thoroughly overgrown. That didn't even phase Damien. To him, it just ensured his privacy.

            The warehouse upstairs had what used to be a kitchen and various offices. Damien and his friends had converted most of these rooms into storage rooms for their collections of survival gear when that was their big thing. He remembered the summers of his youth in survival camps. Some of the best lessons he ever learned were at those camps. A good portion of the gear was still there. He pulled a knife out of its sheath, in good condition too.

            He folded out one of the old cots that they had kept with their gear. He sat down on it and pulled out an beat up notebook and a pen from his pack. He flipped through it to a clean page and began to write out his thoughts until he realized his page had become covered in a disjointed scrawling mess of words and images. He flipped to a new page and began to sketch out an image of a dagger entwined in a bramble bush with three blossoms. He dropped the pen and slammed the notebook shut. He lay down on the cot and wished for rain.

*                                                          *                                                          *

            It was overcast the next morning. Damien sighed and collected himself. He hadn't been down to the Riverside District in years. Thinking about it still gave him chills but a debt was a debt and he knew it was time to face the memories that had haunted him for years. He Picked up the notebook of the floor and ripped out the picture of DaggerRose's tattoo. He pulled out his lighter and set the page alight. He watched the flames lick the paper and dropped it into a nearby metal bin.

           

            He flipped through the survival gear kits looking for supplies he could use, choosing an old utility knife. He remembered using this knife before on countless childhood excursions. He knew it and trusted it. He placed it on top of the notebook which was lying on the cot. He planned to take the path through the woods to get to Riverside. No one ever took the path through the woods. No one except the people who knew it.

            With his gear gathered, Damien was about ready to head for Riverside to assess gaining access into Black Shadow's headquarters when he heard a rustling as though someone was attempting to climb the fire escape. He picked up the pistol that was resting on a nearby box and looked around the exit to see who was on the fire escape. He dropped it back down on the box and drew his dagger instead when he saw DaggerRose. He climbed down to meet her.

            "You're not going to invite me in?" She asked him.

            "No guests, especially not anyone who works for Aiden now off the stairs."

            "I climb all this way and now you want me to climb back down?"

            "Yes, now move."

            "Alright. alright. I'll go back down but you should listen to me. I am trying to help you," said             DaggerRose as she began to climb back down the escape, "do you even listen to anyone, ever,      except Aiden?"

            "I wouldn't be dealing with him if I didn't have to."

            "Come down and we can talk." Damien descended the stairway, keeping the blade handy.

            "We can talk, but not here."

            "Where then? Aiden has people everywhere. No one followed me here."

            "I can't be sure of that and I've already said no guests."

            "You still don't believe I'm not working for Aiden."

            "I saw you at his place and that's enough for me."

            "And I saw you at his place too but you're under his thumb aren't you?"

            "I owe him for something from a long time ago. Keep walking. We're taking the path in the           woods."

            "Nobody goes in the woods."

            "I do. You wanna talk, we talk there." They walked in silence, Damien leading the way.