Still
feeling the pangs of thirst I was thankful for the slight gust of wind blowing
once I was outside. There was a cool, welcoming hush from the trees that seemed
to offer excitement too; and I remember it was necessary to catch the iron gate
at the last minute to stop it banging shut with a clang. It was as if I was
being reminded to appreciate the wildness of outside.
I looked up
and down the lane to see there wasn’t a soul in sight; although a second glance
caught the familiar stray cat watching me from under one of the few parked cars
along the way; two oval eyes reflecting the moon, stars; and a soft glow of
street lighting.
I often
enjoyed this time of night, the comfort of being alone; unnoticed by the neighbours.
It had become my street; my world: quiet enough to detect the trickling of water
from the stream; I could see bats swooping overhead; insects were crackling,
buzzing and tap-tapping away in their nocturnal chorus.
I got down
onto the floor and began meowing at the cat, trying to get it to come out; then
giving up, let out a sharp hissing sound and watched, satisfied, as it
scampered away, fast as a lighting bolt.
In the
distance a dog was barking; then further still the noise of a car engine; ever
so faint; but audible all the same.
I made my
way to the end of the lane, walking freely and zigzagging around, picked up a
stick, and then was searching absent-mindedly for snakes; maybe a rat: something
interesting amongst the tall grass separating the road from the stream. The
moon was clouding over but it was easy to see nevertheless: Despite there being
no lights coming from any of the houses around, the line of lamp posts stood
tall and proud. Like a troop of night-watchmen protecting the sleeping residents
of our neighbourhood; guiding my path to the more inhabited, more civilized part
of town. They nodded down to me with a wise understanding, an appreciation of
my need to be on a mission for some thirst quenching rations.
In spite of
myself and this thirst I lit another cigarette, the smoke hitting the dryness
of the back of my throat with a bitter, though not altogether unpleasant
sensation. I added a deep breath of humid air, opening my mouth wide, savouring
the taste of microscopic water droplets on the back of my dry tongue. I allowed
my mind to carry me briefly to the fresh air-conditioned oasis of Seven-Eleven,
where along the wall fridges held all assortments of beers, juice, flavoured
milk, a range of cool teas and iced coffees.
My thoughts
concentrated towards the familiar ding-dong
sound on entering, the trendy late night radio that would be playing. Not long
now, I told myself. Gonna get myself a beer I reckon. Some fruit juice for
after. A couple of bottles of water for the fridge and maybe a treat for the
girlfriend: one of those chocolate bars with a soft pink strawberry centre. As
for me I had a strange craving for some dried mango; something to suck on and
chew whilst sipping the cool beer.
Imagining
the condensation from the can (drips of water forming on the surface as soon as
it was in my warm, sweaty palm) I hit at the grass once more, lost in
deliberation, not noticing the man until I was almost upon him; almost tripping
over his crumpled, awkward figure.
There was a
pool of dark black liquid beside him which I immediately took to be blood.
Allowing my eyes to further scan the scene I saw redder colours on the tips of
the grass surrounding his body. His head was twisted sideways in an unnatural
position and his left arm had been half severed from the torso; a wound I
guessed to be the source of all the blood.
Somehow knowing
that he was almost certainly dead I lightly kicked at his legs nonetheless: and
then unashamedly was poking his face with the stick; just to be sure.
All this
didn’t make me feel as disturbed as you might think. Most likely the reason for
this is because he was old. Sixty or seventy at a guess. Also he was wearing a
dark suit like bodies are often dressed in when you go to an open casket funeral
and I was bizarrely drawing similarities to a great uncle who I’d only ever
seen in such a state of death.
But
unsurprisingly, after a few seconds had passed the reality of the scene finally
hit me. In sudden shock I stepped back and dropped my half finished cigarette
in the grass. Then swing around, searching for a sign of anyone nearby;
curiously hearing a sudden splash of water from the other side of the river;
and the noise of running footsteps which I couldn’t be sure was my imagination
or not…
There was no
one in sight though. Only the sounds of the insects, distant vehicles, dogs
barking, my own breathing and the scratching of flint from my lighter as I
sparked up a fresh cigarette, wondering what to do.
