Splitting the skies, standing the hair
The crow dissapears and there is no clue that he was ever there
~ The Crow by Corrosivepoet
Oh, it's such a perfect day
I'm glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day
You just keep me hanging on
You just keep me hanging on
You're going to reap just what you sow
You're going to reap just what you sow
You're going to reap just what you sow
You're going to reap just what you sow
~ Perfect Day by Lou Reed
|The Crow (by Enygma42 deviantart.com).jpg.lnk|
Six of One
Friday night at The Premier.
The swankiest five star restaurant in town.
In an uncompromisingly expensive part of town.
The Premier is unashamedly exclusive and luxurious.
And it's busy this evening.
Smartly dressed men chat animatedly with smartly dressed women.
It is a veritable 'who's who' of the upwardly mobile rich set.
An attractive redhead fingers her pearls and picks at her food as she observes an urbane young man proposing to his companion.
The lady in question pauses as if she is making a mental not of his net worth.
Then after a protracted silence she rather unconvincingly agrees to be his wife.
The man is ecstatic.
Love is blind.
In another corner of the opulent restaurant a distinguished looking older man pours his good-looking wife some more Chateau Petrus .
Then he quickly glances at his Rolex.
His pretty blonde mistress is waiting for him in the apartment he bought and paid for on the other side of town.
Two tables away, a thin woman carefully spoons her unfinished meal into the napkin in her lap before shoving it in her exclusive mock-croc Lulu Guinness bag.
The woman is already delightedly imagining the look on her poodles Fifi's face when she presents her with her expensive scraps.
A smartly dressed musician wearing a jaunty flat cap, sits unobtrusively at a vintage piano beneath an alcove.
His name is Gus Levine and he plays Best That You Can Do from Arthur.
Levine is an aficionado at calling up the diners who frequent The Premier.
And he keeps a practised eye upon all the activity around him.
As a struggling musician Gus Levine finds the lives of the pampered rich infinity amusing.
Tonight he has been observing a mother and daughter several tables away.
The younger woman is twice the size of the straight backed elegantly dressed older woman.
They are familiar faces to him.
And there is tension in the air.
Annabelle Devereux is sitting with her daughter Cassandra.
Both are looking intently at their menu's as a smartly dressed waiter stands patiently beside them.
"I'd like The Premier steak - medium rare - with Russian sauce, roast potato's and a salad please" Cassandra Devereux informs the waiter.
"Darling" her mother says, leaning close to her daughter as she lowers her voice, "do you really think you should be eating all that?"
"Because I'm fat, momma dearest?" Cassandra replies sarcastically.
"Oh darling please ..." Annabelle sighs "do you have to be so melodramatic?"
The older woman manages a little laugh.
"I'll have the Caesar Salad please" she informs the waiter.
"Would madam and mademoiselle like a drink with their meal?" The waiter enquires politely.
"A glass of Merlot" Annabelle answers him crisply "my daughter will be having fizzy water tonight"
Cassandra shoots her mother a dagger look.
The waiter quickly disappears.
"You know you could be pretty, if you tried!" She informs her daughter.
Cassandra eyes her mother up and down.
She is dressed in a flouncy blue lace Oscar de la Renta evening gown with expertly coiffured auburn hair and carefully applied Estee Lauder make-up.
A Stepford wife.
Cassandra notices an admirer through the corner of her eye.
Her mother nods graciously at the appreciative older man sitting alone at the table opposite them.
Annabelle rolls her eyes.
Mother and daughter sit glaring at each other.
Annabelle scans her daughter wearily.
Even in a pretty outfit she still looks clumsy.
Cassandra is an attractive brunette with chocolate brown eyes.
She is a bright girl with plenty of potential.
But in the last few years she has ballooned in weight and Annabelle is embarrassed to be seen out with her.
She is utterly mortified at her daughters undignified behaviour.
Cassandra resembles her father too much.
And this is at the root of their sparring.
That low-down, good-for-nothing ...
"Why can't you be a nice girl?" Annabelle asks pointedly.
The words cut through the air like a knife.
Cassandra has perfected a "play dead" coping mechanism.
A "couldn't give a shit" attitude.
But tonight she can't escape the dragon's den.
Annabelle is staring at her daughter disapprovingly.
She is sporting her withered look.
The anvil of destruction.
And Cassandra resists one of her favourite retorts, "I should have been born a boy"
Her mother hates that one.
The "I might be a lesbian" retort is also a firm favourite.
Annabelle shakes her head.
"You have such a lovely face ... shame"
The older woman takes out a compact from her Louis Vuitton handbag and quickly checks her make up.
The older man is still smiling.
His big white teeth flashing.
Annabelle gives him a little wave.
The Queen bestowing a minion with a greeting.
"What about those adorable friends of yours?"
"Like Sara Beth?"
"She got knocked up with the baseball coaches kid as I recall"
"Oh really Cassie - do you have to be so ..."
Annabelle snaps her compact shut and flings it into her handbag.
Did her daughter have to be so uncouth?
She always manages to shame her.
Cassandra is the image of her father ...
Annabelle sighs with exasperation.
You can take a horse to water ...
Her daughter stares dolefully back at her.
Cassandra realises that she hates The Premier.
It is unutterably pretentious.
Full of boorish rich people.
Full of crap.
Her mind flashes back.
Three hours before.
A parade of obscenely expensive residences jostling for prominence.
The art of fakery.
A millionaire's playground.
The old homestead.
A sprawling fifty-room mansion huge.
Cassandra Devereux enters the huge living room with its tasteful decor in her yellow silk Valentino dress and brown Vera Wang wool coat.
Anabelle is on the phone to her friend.
A large Monet hangs above her head.
Annabelle is dressed in her big Oscar de la Renta gown and she is talking animatedly to a snooty friend.
But at the sight of her daughter, she does a double take.
Only her daughter can make designer clothing look trampy.
Cassandra has committed the cardinal sin.
She looks cheap.
"I'll call you back Marianna" Annabelle says before putting down the phone.
This faux pas deserves immediate scrutiny.
She slowly eyes her daughter up and down.
"What are you wearing?"
"Just a little number I threw together"
"Go to your room and get changed"
"Why? What's wrong with it?"
"Honey, I thought you were better than that!" Annabelle sighs with exasperation.
Her mother is on her daughters last nerve.
Annabelle's withered look gradually turns to one of benevolence.
She has suddenly morphed into Mary Tyler Moore.
Gently Annabelle takes her daughters hand in hers and brings her close until they sitting together on the huge white leather sofa.
"Listen my dear. You know your mother loves you very much ..."
"Mother, I'm nineteen not nine years old!"
"I know dear"
"So please stop patronising me!"
"I would dear ... if you didn't look nineteen stone too!"
Cassandra snatches her hands away.
"For goodness sake Cassie!" Annabelle snaps "Don't you have any self respect? You're as fat as an elephant!"
A moment passes as the two women stare at each other.
Ready to go in for the kill.
Cassandra's feelings are hurt.
She has been mortally wounded.
But Annabelle Deveraux is unrepentant.
Cassandra pulls out her trump card.
"No wonder dad couldn't stand you and left you!" Cassandra sneers "You're horrible ... you're just a nasty bitch"
Annabelle's mouth drops open.
She wasn't expecting that curve ball.
"Now listen to me young lady, I will not be spoken to like that!"
"The truth hurts doesn't it?"
"Your father has nothing to with this! This is about your weight issues Missy"
Cassandra springs up from the sofa.
"I wish he was here!"
"Leaving was the best move he ever made!"
"He'd never speak to me like that! I hate you"
"Your father was a hopeless gambler. Then he met that tramp and started canoodling with her ..."
"You drove him to it! My father is a good man!"
Annabelle throws back her head and laughed.
"Your father was good at getting into trouble. He would have sold you down the river just to pay his gambling debts ... that is how nice he was"
|Waiting at the window daaram deviantart.com)|
"How can you say that?"
"Because its the truth. Your daddy was nothing but a spoilt little rich brat like you!"
Cassandra looks hurt.
"He thought the world revolved around him. He was a selfish, good-for-nothing and I'm glad he's gone ..."
The acidic words hang in the air.
Ernest Devereux has been dead for five years now.
Holed up in the massive Devereaux mausoleum.
Alcohol addiction hastened his end.
Cassandra knows when she is defeated.
She sits back down again.
They stare at their hands for several long moments
"Why not wear that pretty pink Chloe dress? It's very flattering and feminine"
Annabelle gives her daughter a warm smile.
The ice has thawed.
A truce is called.
Annabelle Devereux is human again.
Cassandra grudgingly accepts defeat.
That was then.
This is now.
Now Cassandra sits in The Premier staring resentfully at her mother.
With her helmet hair.
And Estee Lauder make-up.
Annabelle is trying to avoid making eye contact with Cassandra now.
She isn't rising to the bait.
Mother would never put anything else but La Prairie on her face ... if it's not expensive ... it's no good ... she'd rather starve then eat anything from a hypermarket ... she's the classic rich bitch ... too posh to push ... bet she's frigid as well ...
Sometimes its hard to believe that the po-faced woman sitting opposite her is her mother.
She is more Norma Bates than Norma Shearer.
"Honey, you know I would never do anything to hurt you" Annabelle begins as she takes her glass of wine from the waiters little silver serving tray.
The waiter is standing to attention.
Pretending not to notice the frosty state of affairs between mother and daughter.
But the musician has already beaten him to it.
Gus has been keeping an eye on the Deveurex's all evening.
Cassandra moodily takes her fizzy water and drinks it down with one gulp.
The older woman can barely conceal her disgust at her daughter lack of "breeding".
She's got that from her father ...
"But I'm not going to lie to you either" Annabelle continues "you are on the fat side of things"
The older woman arranges her face into a benevolent gaze.
Cassandra stifles a laugh.
All the plastic surgery and collagen injections have turned her mother's face into an expressionless mask.
She can barely lift her eyebrows now.
The fish-face look.
Annabelle shakes her head.
Dear, dear Cassie ... you are so much like your father it pains me ... he squandered everything and ended up a bum .... goodness knows I had to rely on my wits and perfume line to keep our heads above water ... I curse the day my parents ever introduced him to me ...
Cassandra sits on the edge of her seat waiting for the punch line.
She grits her teeth and makes tight little fists beneath the table.
"And you'll never find yourself a nice boy if you look like that" Annabelle finally finishes.
The older woman sits back in her chair.
Her job done.
Cassandra is so incensed that she wants the ground to swallow her mother alive.
Swallow her right up with a big belch.
The food arrives.
Both women are deathly silent.
The pianist is playing Let Me Entertain You
The waiter carefully puts the food on the table with the waitress.
"What you mean is ..." Cassandra replies loudly. "I won't bag myself a nice little rich boy like you did!
Several diners turn to look at them
The waiter quickly exits.
"Can you please keep your voice down" Annabelle answers through a sneer "People are actually looking at us"
"Oh let them look at the poor fat rich girl!" Cassandra retorts loudly "Maybe I should do a striptease as well!"
Her mother's admirer has already left.
"Cassie ..you are making a fool out of yourself ..and you are embarrassing me in front of all these strangers and I now believe I can't take you anywhere"
The shame of it.
"Oh do shut up mother! With your overweening pride .. your fake nice ...as real as your fake tits!"
"That is enough! I will not sit here and have you disrespect me like this!"
"What's the matter? Truth hurt?"
"I will not discuss this with you here!"
Dozens of diners have turned to stare at Annabelle and her daughter.
Several couples are commenting on the unfolding drama.
The tension is mounting.
Gus is playing Eye of the Tiger.
Cassandra suddenly grabs her fork digging it into the steak and then cramming as much of the meat into her mouth as she can.
To Annabelle's horror, her daughter continues to ram the meat feverishly into her mouth.
Cassandra grunts and groans with orgasmic pleasure as she shovels the meat down.
Not even coming up for air.
Then the young woman moves on the roast potato's.
Stabbing them with her fork and swallowing them whole.
Several other diners are avidly watching the spectacle before them and commenting on it.
During all the commotion, the adulterer nimbly slips out to meet his impatient mistress.
His wife is still admiring the diamond bracelet he gave her and she doesn't even notice.
Greed is good.
Gus is now merrily playing Sinatra's My Way.
Gus is full of gusto.
This has been one helluva night.
Cassandra Devereux continues to guzzle the food down with abandon.
Her mother stands frozen to the spot.
Mortification has turned her to stone.
The waiter tentatively approaches Annabelle Devereux.
Her mouth is hanging wide open.
Her eyes glazed over.
"Would madam like the bill now?" The waiter finally asks.
Conscience Pays To Guilt
Jack Hawkins had been sitting in traffic for half an hour.
But it felt like days.
There were cars everywhere.
Bumper to bumper.
And Jack had too much time on his hands.
There was a fork in the road of his life.
And he had time.
Time to think.
Because Jack Hawkins was in love with another woman.
Now he was about ready to explode.
Both women sprang into his mind - fully formed.
Cara's mother - Melissa.
Cara was quite the kindest soul he had ever met.
But he'd been screwing her mother for some time now.
Jack's mind flashed back to the night before.
He and Melissa in the big silken bed.
The delectable Melissa.
She knew exactly what to do to make a man happy.
Mature and refined.
She positively purred like a cat in bed.
"Don't you ever feel guilty?" Melissa asked him unexpectedly.
"Never" Jack lied quickly.
"She's my daughter Jack" Melissa said with emotion.
|Crashed HDR (by FarrOffMemory deviantart.com)|
But she wasn't convincing enough.
Jack turned to look at Melissa.
Tears were falling down her face.
Guilt was bitch.
It had been their silent bedfellow since their affair began.
Pointing an accusatory finger at them.
The loud animal sex could not quite stifle it out.
The sexual attraction was unmistakable the moment Jack and Melissa were introduced by Cara.
"This is my man" she had declared.
But not for long.
Melissa and Jack could not resist each other.
But unfortunately he belonged to her daughter.
They were at it like rabbits within days.
Anywhere lust took them. .
Big loud sex.
A primal thing.
Now Jack Hawkins was attempting to hide the remorse that had also joined their bed.
Three years of lies.
They were about to come to an end ...
The charade was over.
No more pretending.
Jack and Melissa were coming clean.
About their sordid sex thing.
They had been planning a future together.
A nice house with a white picket fence.
Hearts and roses.
And big loud sex.
A future without Cara.
A future without Cara.
Pretty little Cara.
The Good Samaritan.
Now Jack Hawkins wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel.
A police squad car meandered through the maze of cars.
That's all they needed
The officious fuzz.
His taxes were funding their ineptitude.
"Great!" Jack snarled "The pigs are here!"
The squad car noisily sped by.
And two male coppers leaped out and made their way through the growing crowd.
Jack checked his watch.
The pigs would soon be going home for tea.
It was getting late.
He quickly put his head out of the window but could see nothing but cars.
Like giant ants.
Metal beasts of burden.
The smell of car fumes was everywhere.
Gales of smoke wafted around.
Reluctantly Jack settled back into his seat and screwed his eyes tightly shut.
Trying to block out the dull throbbing pain.
Trying not to think.
And losing the battle.
Still sitting in his car.
"Come on!" Jack Hawkins shouted hitting the steering wheel with his fists.
The man in the car in front turned around and shrugged.
He shot Jack an apologetic smile.
Jack sat back.
A large crowd had gathered in the near distance.
Curiosity killed the cat.
Something of great portent had happened ahead.
But Jack was caught up in a fierce internal struggle.
The suspense was killing him.
Jack popped another piece of gum in his mouth.
The sky was dim.
One last burst of sunlight before dusk.
Jack hit the wheel with his big hand again.
He buzzed down his window and addressed one of the drivers who had left their car.
"What's going on?" Jack shouted to him
The man turned slowly to him.
His face was as white as a sheet.
"Accident, mate" he answered "Stay in your car"
The man visibly shuddered.
Thirty minutes he'd been sitting in this car.
But it felt like thirty hours.
He was uncomfortable.
Conflicted and angry.
And now he was hungry.
"Screw that!" Jack Hawkins exclaimed.
He jumped out of his car.
He was stiff and he shook himself out.
Jack felt like a bird freed from its cage.
He pushed people out of the way as he made his way to the front of the crowd.
What was so interesting.
He noticed someone heaving in the bushes.
People were murmuring in incredulity.
"Out of my way!" Jack snapped as he pushed them out of the way.
He somewhere to be.
He ignored the monkey-faced police officer.
"Get back into your car"
Jack sneered at them.
Somebody in front of him suddenly doubled up, retching into their hand.
"For crying out loud!" Jack cried.
The he was standing before the carnage.
It would forever be burned into his brain.
The horror froze the blood in his veins.
Made his heart miss a beat.
Two cars had collided head on.
All concertina like.
Entangled together like lovers.
There were shards of glass and pieces of twisted metal everywhere.
There was blood everywhere.
Rivers of dark blood flowing.
A crushed white hand hanging limply.
Hanging pathetically out of the smoking carcass of one of the cars.
A cell phone strewn on the ground began lighting up.
Some poor fool was trying to contact the deceased.
Jack's eyes followed a dark streak of blood to the other mangled car.
A body lay twisted and broken where it had been flung out of the windscreen on impact.
It was a female.
And the mutilated car was her coffin now.
She was blonde.
Like a dead mermaid.
Sprawled across the bonnet where she had been flung on impact.
Blonde tresees everywhere.
Caked in blood and shards of broken glass.
A rag doll that had been flung aside by a petulant child.
Vomit rose in Jack's throat.
The dead woman had blank staring eyes.
A partially open red mouth.
Frozen in a scream.
Or in the throes of ardour.
He could see her now.
She was smiling down at him.
"Jack! Come back to bed!"
A tigress in bed.
Melissa tossing her blonde head back as she sat beside him in the speedboat on holiday in Italy ...
Melissa's blonde hair across his chest as they lay in bed after they had made love for hours.
Melissa the goddess.
Melissa ... ... ...
An ambulance siren sounded loudly.
Breaking the silence.
Cutting through Jack Hawkins like a knife.
This was real.
It was really happening.
It would take Jack Hawkins time to come to terms with the fact that it was Melissa's dead body lying crushed in that wreckage.
Even after three months of heavy sedation.
He was haunted man.
The ghost of Melissa would not leave him alone.
And he had to learn to live with Cara now.
Guilt had become a permanent bedfellow now.
And Jack was a shadow of his former self.
Looking into Cara's innocent face everyday.
And living a lie.
He didn't love her and he never really had.
Jack Hawkins knew that now.
It had always been Melissa.
His dreams were full of mangled cars on the motorway.
Melissa lying across the bonnet of her car.
The smell of death and diesel.
On the road to Hell.
Smell The Coffee
December in the city.
Palm Tree Cafe
Sam Carroll was sitting with Jenny Andrews.
Two college students.
Three years of classes almost over.
Facing the big blue yonder.
The cafe was busy that afternoon.
And the couple were sitting in a secluded corner by a fake spider plant.
Sam was sipping coffee and looking intently at Jenny who was smiling anxiously and playing with her hair.
She always played with her hair when she was nervous.
Sam was always intense but today he was behaving as if he had something of great portent to impart.
He was incredibly earnest.
And Jenny was out of her depth.
They talked about college and their studies.
Jenny Andrews had known Sam Carroll for over a year now since he had joined her media class.
She liked him.
He was artistic and a maverick.
A loner who didn't mix much with the others.
And Jenny Andrews felt drawn to him but she didn't really know why.
Perhaps it was because of the Christian prayer group she had joined.
Sam Carroll was the just the person who needed something more in their lives.
So Jenny had befriended him and told him about her beliefs.
Carroll was an atheist.
A new atheist.
But he liked Jenny a lot.
She was blonde and pretty with clear blue eyes and a spray of freckles.
Jenny was untainted.
Pure and clean.
He was the opposite.
Not bad looking, just unconventional.
With a mop of black hair that fell across his brow and sharp brown eyes.
A piercing through his lip.
He hated authority and was a non-conformist.
"A free thinker"
Jenny Andrews thought he was lost.
But her big mistake was that she thought she could save him.
It was her Christian duty.
Jenny didn't realise that Sam Carroll needed to be saved from himself.
There seemed to be a growing accord between them.
|Black Rain (by sycamores-and-cedars deviantart.com)|
But it wasn't a love thing.
And Jenny completely misread the signs.
Unaware that the boy who did not believe in love had fallen for her.
Sam Carroll was hopelessly in love with her.
Even though he claimed that love was just a chemical reaction.
A trick "to make us mate".
"The reason ... I asked you here is ... because well ... its because ... " Sam stumbled.
Out of his depth.
Jenny Andrews had never seen him this way before.
And she was alarmed.
Usually he was so laid back he was almost horizontal.
Nothing fazed him.
But today he looked genuinely burdened.
Sam Carroll had been planning what to say for days.
Now it was do.
Sam Carroll surveyed the world with a jaundiced eye.
His word was a dystopian one.
A dog eat dog world.
Human animals doing what comes natural.
Doing each other over.
And the earth remembers you no more.
With a druggie mother and absent father.
Life was shit.
Now his courage was all but deserting him.
Sam Carroll fumbled in his pocket for the little box.
He felt silly.
The little velvet box contained the modest diamond ring he had bought for her.
The girl who made his heart sing.
The little Christian girl.
Little Bo Peep.
Now she was looking at him with those concerned eyes.
Those vivid blue eyes.
And Sam Carroll thought his heart had stopped.
"What's wrong Sam?" Jenny Andrews whispered "You seem really agitated"
She touched Carroll's shoulder with her hand.
"I have something for you ..."
He fumbled in his pocket.
"What is it?"
"You'll ... see"
He was struggling with his coat pocket.
"Are you okay?"
Finally he found the little velvet box but in his nervousness he dropped it and it bounced loudly across the floor.
The moment had gone.
And he hated himself for being so weak.
Sam Carroll marked its destination with deflation.
Jenny Andrews was utterly confused.
Presently Carroll retrieved the box and sat back down.
But everything was ruined now.
The couple opposite them were staring.
"I wanted to give you this" Sam Carroll finally said.
He opened the little box to reveal a diamond ring.
It glittered brightly as it caught the light.
Jenny's eyes widened.
She was lost for words.
It was beautiful.
This was turning out to be a surreal afternoon.
"You know" Sam began slowly "You must know ... what I'm trying to say ..."
But she didn't.
"Sam, you're scaring me!"
"You're the last person I want to scare"
"I don't know what you're trying to say!"
"Stop pretending! You know what I'm trying to say"
"I'm sorry, I just don't understand ..."
Sam Carroll was exasperated.
All the time they'd spent together.
He knew something was happening between them.
It was obvious to him
Plain as day.
Several awkward moments passed between them.
The cat had got their tongue.
The couple opposite them were clearly discussing them with interest.
Sam grabbed Jenny's hand.
The sudden gesture unnerved her.
She gently withdrew her hand
The gesture stung Sam Carroll.
She had gone all ice maiden on him.
Frigid Christian bitch.
He was still staring at her.
But his face darkened.
Sam Carroll was breathing heavily now.
Her rejection had hurt him.
Little Christian bitch.
"Stop this, Sam!"
"You fucking God-botherer!" He erupted.
Jenny got up to leave but Sam grabbed her hand.
He pulled her back down.
"You're hurting me!" She cried.
"All this time we've been meeting ... looking at each other ... sharing your thoughts with me ... making me feel like we have something ... and then ... then you play this cold bitch ... leading me on ... letting me down ... but deep down I know you love me ... I know ... you see ... I know goddamn everything ..."
Jenny Andrews was mortified.
He was still gripping her arm tightly.
Now Jenny was shaking with shock.
He roughly let her go.
Her friend had been replaced by a monster.
The boy who sat before her we not the boy she had befriended.
Jenny's friends had warned her about him.
But she wouldn't listen.
She wanted to save him.
"You think your God will save you? There is no fucking God and even if there is one, He's done a fucking shit job with the human race ... science explains everything ... not some fucking God-man who probably never existed born of a fucking virgin ... don't make me fucking laugh ..."
"I know ... you don't mean all that ... you're a good person!"
Sam Carroll stifled a laugh.
"You little fucking cock-tease!"
He fairly spat the words out.
"I'm sorry" Jenny Andrews said finally.
Her voice was barely audible.
She was that shaken.
"I don't want your fucking pity"
"I'm sorry if you thought more of our friendship ... than it really was ... I thought we were good friends and I'm just so sorry ..."
Sam Carroll stared back blankly at Jenny Andrews.
She was fighting back the tears.
But he wasn't finished with her yet.
"You bitch!" Sam Carroll erupted viciously "You're all the same ... stringing guys along ... then dumping them!"
"Stop fucking saying you're sorry because you're not. You're a fucking goody-too-shoes, virgin, God-botherer!"
"Please, Sam ... don't ...!"
"Fuck you and your non-existent God!"
"I'll pray for you ..."
Sam Carroll laughed.
She was going to pray to the genie in the sky.
"Screw that! Now fuck off!"
Jenny Andrews grabbed her coat and rushed out of the cafe.
It was raining hard outside and she dissolved into tears.
Then she raced sobbing towards the underground station.
Jenny Andrews never saw Sam Carroll again.
Back in the cafe, Sam was staring down at his hands.
The bottom had fallen out of his world.
He didn't know why he had said those things to Jenny Andrews.
Sam Carroll was just angry at the world.
Now he had lost his first real love.
And he felt empty.
He kept seeing Jenny's devastated face before him.
The big tragic eyes.
Now he felt guilty.
Sam Carroll slowly looked up.
The couple opposite him were looking at him and giggling.
A boy and a girl.
"What the hell are you staring at?"
The couple shrugged.
"You fucking freaks!"
Sam Carroll lurched over to their table.
The couple were cowering with fright.
Several people hurriedly left the cafe and the rotund Italian owner retreated to the kitchen to call for assistance.
The rest of the cafe had become silent as everyone turned to stare at the frenzied young man.
Sam Carroll was foaming at the mouth.
His eyes were red.
Sam Carroll grabbed a fork from the table.
"Eat this, you shitty fuckwits!"
Then he dug the fork as deeply into his wrist as he could.
|welcome to... hell.(by SpectralRaven deviantart.com)|