The morning light started to seep itself through the closed blinds, like an unwelcome visitor, reminding me of the end to the night. I looked around the unfamiliar room. The clothes in a heap on the floor, of which only half were mine. The hanging pictures of the unknown smiling groups of friends seemed all to be looking at me, but their smiles seemed like judging smirks. The naked man who was snoring next to me with his unwanted hand grazed across my bare chest.
I gently slid it off, as not to wake him and sat up, kicking my feet off the bed and firmly planted them on the bare wooden floor. I tried to get my bearings as I felt the oh too familiar headache of a hangover start to pound in my head like a children’s brass band playing the national anthem, and none of them were in key! Continue reading “David by Michael Mann”
“So, why do they leave that one light on overnight?” Alice asked.
Paul turned to look at the empty stage, one last time before his retirement.
“That’s the ghost light.” He smiled. The single light bulb stood in the centre of the theatre’s main stage, giving off a slight warm glow. “You leave it on overnight to ward off evil spirits that may lurk in the theatre.”
Alice’s face turned pale with the idea of ghosts. Paul turned to look at her and quickly chuckled. Continue reading “The Whistling Man By Michael Mann”
People are creatures of habit. I noticed these things as I gazed out from my kitchen window, that overlooked the busy city streets. The people. Their patterns.
07:42 the businessman walks by my window. Wearing his suit on his commute to work, rushing for the morning train, that by my calculations he would usually just make.
08:13 The group of teenagers, in their school uniforms. The boys showing off, like primates throwing their own shit. All to impress the young girls who are already far more mature, yet not old enough to know it.
08:24 The mother with two children clinging to her leggings as she dragged them off to school.
Then she walks past my window. Continue reading “Daphne By Michael Mann”
A slow beat. A smoke filled rhythm coated the room in a thick blanket of warm music.
“No more his eager call
The writings on the wall
The dreams you dreamed have all
Her voice echoed throughout my bedroom, as I laid on the thin ash burnt carpet, dreaming of far off places. It was nearly dawn. The morning birds outside trying to match the beautiful melodies that I held captive in my room.
I didn’t hear the front door unlock but I heard the drunken stumbling of my mother, as she dropped her door key and she wasn’t alone.
I left the sanctuary of my bedroom and at the bottom of the stairs, two lingering fingers, hidden in almost complete darkness, lit only by the burning cigarette, ash slowly cascading onto the shag carpet. They were dancing. Dancing their dance of neck kissing and hands fumbling. My mother, and a stranger. Continue reading “All That’s Left by Michael Mann”