night walks

[machinery]

The bedroom was an open range of tasteless carpet with trampled paths and walls without hung hobbies. These paths of practice mapped the room that gave furniture placement, which was pushed in corners or against walls, importance. These worn paths showed ways to the northwest corner, a walk-in closet, and the southeast corner, an approximately four-foot high dresser, its top naked of knick-knacks.

Judging from lack of color and thickness, the path that started from the bed, a mere twin with a brass frame on plastic wheels, was the main area of movement. These paths all connected as one in the middle of the room, underneath a lone light bulb of low wattage with a long chain, and continued to the bedroom's door, constructed in the opposite corner of the bed's placement.

The bedroom door was ancient and heavy with oak. It had two different types of locks: a deadbolt and a safety chain. These characteristics gave the illusion of safety; not from the outside world, but from his subconscious self. Darrell was a threat to himself, let alone to society.


Turn of deadbolt and pull of chain,
freedom from boxed bedroom.
out into the vast living room,
following the path of previously
stepped-upon carpet to the
main door of the apartment.
turns of two deadbolts and pull of chain,
freedom from boxed boredom.

He walked loose and stupid, a block north
of his basement establishment, to a
corner store of late hours.
lungs howled for smoke,
showed identification,
and purchased a pack
with a point.

Wandered north one more block
to the park lit up late at night.
strolled to the fountain, sucked
down his fix, fizzled to the filter,
only to toss it amongst the
hopelessness of magnified
pocket change.

Made his way back by the
corner store; he left his pack
in the mailbox to the adjacent door
of the store.

At home, locked the bolts,
readjusted the chain,
once again in his room,
he undressed and fell
upon used sheets.

* * *

It was 6:30 A.M.; her shift was almost over. But it was not like she would go home and sleep anyway. Every night she worked the graveyard shift, which started at 11 P.M.

Tala had a wide variety of customers during the graveyard shift. Bums preaching for alcohol, pushy pimps pleading for one blunt instead of buying the whole pack, tired mothers bitching about babies and how the store did not carry milk. But it was the consumers of cigarettes that interested her most. Their eyes would always dart upward, beyond her eye contact, checking prices, hoping for two for the price of one.

* * *

Darrell's abdominal muscles flexed as he sat up. As always, the sheets were pushed to the foot of the bed and the comforter was between the mattress and the wall. He shifted his lower weight; his bare feet met the floors' carpet.

As he stood, his legs felt tired, as did his body. He raised an eyebrow to his morning fatigue, knowing he fell asleep well before midnight. After a stretch or two, Darrell dressed himself, unlocked his bedroom door and made way to the kitchen.

The phone rang. Darrell answered. It was his ex-girlfriend. She asked how he was doing, more importantly if he was sleeping well. Darrell commented that he didn't know since she was no longer around to complain. She hung up the phone. It was Saturday. Darrell left his apartment shortly after.

* * *

In bed, she stared at the ceiling and wanted to fall asleep. She always counted the ceiling tiles; always 168. She left her bed and sprawled on the couch in the living room; daytime television till the evening news. Her interest was always distant; her eyes were red, dark bags hung under them.

Night would come soon and Tala would be back at the corner store, stuck in the penalty box, pushing cigarettes across the counter and checking lottery numbers for the late-night coffee hounds. She sat and waited. Just another Saturday that would be wasted.

* * *

For the first time in awhile, Darrell found himself at the fountain in the park, just two blocks north of his basement apartment. He rarely visited being that it was where he first met his ex-girlfriend, Kellen. That was over ten years ago. Just walking by it depressed Darrell. They used to go there all the time, making wishes, playfully kissing and whispering lovely, sometime sexual remarks into each other's ears. She used to sit right there, her left leg dangled over her right, eyes fixed at me as she sipped her coffee. Darrell's brain became intensely heavy like wet jeans. He decided to go home and crawl back in bed.

* * *

There was one customer in particular Tala was keen to study. Darrell Henderson-a man of moderate age, most likely in his late twenties, who always showed his identification (so many times that she knew all of his information by heart) when he purchased cigarettes late at night. He never spoke. He just grunted and pointed at the tobacco products.

Tala could not get over his eyes; his pupils like eight balls, glossy and distraught. If he made eye contact she could not tell. She never knew what to say since he did not speak.

* * *


Turn of deadbolt and pull of chain,
freedom from boxed bedroom.
out into the vast living room,
following the path of previously
stepped-upon carpet to the
main door of the apartment.
turns of two deadbolts and pull of chain,
freedom from boxed boredom.

He walked loose and stupid, a block north
of his basement establishment, to a
corner store of late hours.
lungs howled for smoke,
showed identification,
and purchased a pack
with a point.

Wandered north one more block
to the park lit up late at night.
strolled to the fountain, sucked
down his fix, fizzled to the filter,
only to toss it amongst the
hopelessness of magnified
pocket change.

Made his way back by the
corner store; he left his pack
in the mailbox to the adjacent door
of the store.

At home, locked the bolts,
readjusted the chain,
once again in his room,
he undressed and fell
upon used sheets.


* * *

She thought about Darrell Henderson all day. 166. Darrell. 167. Henderson. 168. Darrell Henderson. Last night he purchased a pack of Dorals. 102nd St. Apt. 2-B. That morning after work, Tala found a pack of Dorals, a cigarette shy of full, in her mailbox. 5'11.? And the night before last, she sold him Winstons; Winstons with only one cigarette smoked were in her mailbox the day after. Organ donor. Tala became more and more interested in Darrell as she hung around her apartment that day. She decided to say something to him the next time she saw him.

* * *

At 6:20 A.M. Darrell was awoken by a phone call. It was his ex-girlfriend.

?I would sleep better if you didn't call early all the time,? he responded.

?You know, I'm trying to be nice. Darrell, I still care about you.?

?Then why did you run out on me??

?It was too hard. I was too worried. You kept me up at night and if I did fall asleep, I would sometimes wake up to you being gone.?

?Well...?

?And you always smelled like smo...?

?What??

?Nothing.?

?I haven't smoked in over ten years.?

?Anyway, listen. I know you couldn't help it, but I couldn't take it anymore. And Darrell, I don't care if you did or didn't smoke, or even if you smoke now.?

?Well babe, you made it obvious already, so don't worry...don't call.?

?No... No... Darrell...?

?Later Kel. I hope you find someone who is comfortable to cuddle with.? After Darrell violently jabbed the power button of the phone with his right index finger, he suddenly had the urge for cigarettes.

* * *

Darrell entered the store, made way to the counter. ?A pack of...um...what do I want??

?Oh he speaks. Um, yeah, I usually give you full flavors.?

?Huh??

?Yeah, every night you come in.?

?Miss, I haven't smoked in over ten years.?

?Whatever you say Mr. Henderson.? Darrell's face went white.

?Ho... How did you know my name? Who are you??

?Don't play dumb Darrell. You've been leaving the cigarettes you buy from here every night in my mailbox. How did you know I lived upstairs? I have to admit, I'm flattered."

?You're freaking me out lady. This is the first time I've purchased cigarettes in ten years, like I stated previously.?

?If you like me Darrell, just say so-no more games. I can't stand it any longer.?

Darrell grabbed the pack of reds from the counter, threw down a Hamilton and exited the store quickly.

Darrell found himself at the fountain once again. Cigarette after cigarette he lit up, throwing each butt into the fountain after he believed it to be finished. Darrell could not believe the nerve of his ex, Kellen. Did she do it on purpose? He did not want her to call anymore.

Darrell was agitated. Matters were only made worse by the oddness and inquisitiveness of the store clerk. What in the hell was she talking about? I go in there every night. I smoke full flavors. Absurd.

The store clerk somewhat reminded Darrell of his ex-girlfriend, Kellen. Her short brown hair that bounced with every moment, her facial features, even how she leaned on the counter. But mostly how she talked; it was so nonchalantly nosy. Just as much as this all bothered Darrell, it turned him on.

The store clerk was not the issue though. It was not her fault. It was all Kellen's. Damn bitch. Just leave me the fuck alone.

Darrell thought about what he would say and do to Kellen if he ever saw her again as he finished his fifth smoke. He tossed it in the fountain, the pack followed, and he headed home to crawl in bed and in hopes to never wake again.

* * *

Turn of deadbolt and pull of chain,
freedom from boxed bedroom.
out into the vast living room,
following the path of previously
stepped-upon carpet to the
main door of the apartment.
turn of two deadbolts and pull of chain,
freedom from boxed boredom.

Entered the store; his
clumsy feet shuffled on the floor.
with fist pounds upon the counter
he mumbled incoherence.

?Darrell,? she said.
and his arms flailed
?Darrell,? she said
and his hands clenched.

A throat-scratched scream
and his arms swung violently.
packed fists met soft cheeks
continuously until a body dropped.
behind the counter
her screams stopped.

Around the counter he stumbled
to her panicky mumbles
and constant whimpers
?Darrell...? she moaned.

As his right leg formed a right angle,
her bloody face was shadowed.
?Darrell...? again she moaned.
his right leg became a straight line.

The bedroom door was ancient and heavy with oak. It had two different types of locks: a deadbolt and a safety chain. These characteristics gave the illusion of safety; not from the outside world, but from his subconscious self. Darrell was a threat to himself, let alone to society.

[Hannibal]

I'm at work right now - but just wanted to say - I read about 1/3 of the way through - and I found myself immersed in it.
I can't wait until I can sit down at home and really get into it.
Love it so far..... LOVE IT!

[machinery]

have you sat down and got into it yet?

let me know what you think......

hurry up chris

[Hannibal]

Insane.
The ending was.... kinda cloudy for me...
and I wish it wasn't, because i have what I THINK happened in my head... but it left me kinda not sure.
Wow - what an awesome peice.
I dig it man - it seems very well worded - but like I said - the end is....... well, seems rushed and finished in a way of "just getting it done"...
it doesn't seem as intricate as the other parts of the peice.
I like the idea of the ending - just not how it was written out.
Nice work!