Here Be Monsters - By M T Murphy Page 0,25

whirlpool of life and death.

Finally, we Join.

After tossing the Nikon into the darkness, we pluck a fig off our white tennis shoe. We sniff the moldy fruit as loud as we can.

We love the smell of rot.

Deals and Demons

Samantha Anderson

©2011

All rights reserved.

Edited by M.T. Murphy

The wrecking ball came down, the force of it blowing the hair back from my face. A rumble went through the ground as it impacted the building it was aiming for. I didn’t cry for the destruction; it was a bittersweet moment. I held the whiskey bottle in my hands and poured some of the contents to the ground in a silent toast as the bricks started to fall.

“To new beginnings,” I whispered. Capping the bottle, I slipped the whiskey back into my pocket. A month ago my life started over and now was the time to focus on bigger things and get back to the basics of purpose. Loyalty and duty were the only things I was concerned with at the moment. I headed to the darker side of town. Even a village as remote as this had its unmentionable areas.

I opened the door to the jingle of little bells and was bombarded by the smell of incense, tobacco and musty hardwood flooring.

“Be right there,” a gruff voice from the back said. I looked at the artwork on the walls, flipping through the displays until I found what I wanted.

“Are you rebellious or a pain junkie?” a man asked as he walked in from the back. He looked like an Ozzy Osbourne impersonator with long black hair, borderline slurred speech, and tattoos covering him everywhere I could see except his face.

“Neither, being reborn. I would like this,” I said, pointing to one of the sketches. He looked it over and brought me into the backroom. Lifting my shirt off over my head, I leaned my face into the massage-style chair, rolling my shoulders forward. He wiped my back with alcohol and then drew the design with a marker. Lifting a mirror so I could see the reflection of my back, he showed me that the tattoo would cover a large section from shoulders to waist.

“That’s what you want?” he asked.

“Yes, exactly.” I didn’t move as I heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun, and I only winced as I felt the first bit of pain. I lost myself in thoughts of my life and what had led me here to this moment.

* * * * *

If I look at you, you will see, your place is in Hell, right next to me…

I was rocked awake, sweat dampening my skin as I gasped for air, gulping in as much as I could before the sobs choked me. The dragon tattoo on my left leg felt like it had been branded there and my skin was over-heated beyond what it typically was. Images from the dream flashed in my mind as I blinked, wiping the sweat from my face.

The alarm next to my bed sounded, startling me further. I slammed my hand against it, shutting it off.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I kept repeating the mantra in my head. I heard the dogs barking, their snarling growing louder with each passing day and I ignored it as I set about washing my face.

Dressed and no more calm, I pulled my chestnut hair into a knot and zipped up the black sweatshirt. Putting the earphones in, I pulled my hood up over my head and stepped out into the icy rain. This time of year it always rained in this part of town. It was said that it was the heavens’ way of cleaning the wicked. An Old wives tale told to kids so they ate their vegetables and did their homework at night, I was sure. Rain was rain.

Taking off into a jog, I rounded up Van Siclen Avenue and crossed through the alleyways to make it to Flatlands. The nicest building on this street was St. Laurence Church. It looked out of place with their rich landscaping and bright colors next to the dull blacks and grays of charred buildings and slum streets. I refused to lift my eyes on the statue of St. Laurence as I went past. His eyes always looked down on me. Judging me. Seeing right through me. Today was not the day for it.

I rounded the corner and stepped into the MonroeBuilding. My sneakers slid slightly against the grimy floors, but no one paid any attention. This wasn’t like I was in Manhattan