Ok, so here’s a random thing I wrote a while ago. I thought I should post something and had no idea what, so I remembered this. It also has a part II, so if anyone actually likes this…
A big thanks to Deemee, who still hates Paradise City and who had the brilliant idea to go driving around around 23:00, though he didn’t even have a license.
-insert an original title here-
He put it out on the window, gently pressing its frail white back with his fingertip. The grey-blue smoke…
(the eyes, the eyes, they’re nothing but smoke tonight)
…went by my window, choking the air in elliptic phantasms.
I hugged my knees and pressed my cheek on the smooth window, staring at the tiny orange gems, kindled by his breath, appearing and disappearing in an enchanting dance behind the black, curly hair.
– It’s a pity it’s so short.
– The way?
– No, your hair.
– Then why did you cut yours?
– I don’t know.
I could feel the night wind lashing my face and rushing in my lungs. Sick, confusing lights were swallowing the entire city, like faceless, dirty embers. The red traffic light ahead was bleeding on these embers, yes, and we had been stopped there only to witness it. Then what seemed a dark emptiness flashed green and we left quickly. Left it all behind. Again, the dazzling lights passing by, in their ill monotony.
(everything is passing by, I’m always still and they’re passing by…)
– Give me that thing, I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. He carefully placed the cigarette between my shaking fingers.
– You’re cold, he said in a neutral tone.
– So what?
– Calm down, ok? Don’t I look 18?
– Yes, you certainly do. That’s one of the things that worry me.
His childish laughter filled the car.
(“Just kiss it, sis. Give it a sweet peck. And inhale. Lungs, not mouth, ok?”)
And those grey phantasms filled me again. The wrist-flick, the hypnotizing white movement. And it invaded me again, with that pleasant taste of doing something wrong.
I gave it back to him.
– Sure you don’t wanna finish it?
(No, grandpa, I’ll never smoke. Smoking is for bad people.)
The car smelled of rust and old perfume. It was an almost tangible scent, crawling through the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, no, not at all. It was simply the car. It was an entity, chasing us to nowhere, waiting for us where everywhere ended.
“Take me down to the Paradise City, where the grass…”
– Can I shut this crap off?
– Yeah, whatever.
I went back to the piece of glass between me and the world. The sky threw its dark purple shadows, slithering through the crowded street. The blind purple, dying on each alley, blushing on each roof. I bit my left knee and an involuntary cry came out of my throat.
– Stop that, he said, turning his worried face to me for a few seconds.
– It’s not right, I muttered. It’s awake, it’s alive…
– It’s the city. It never dies. It only moves on. It never sleeps…
(…So hold me, until it sleeps…)*
…it only closes one eye at a time.
So many people walking. Only two directions. The flashing light deforming their faces, devouring the human beings inside each. They are masses of black and white…
(Where’s that damn lighter?)
…behind my glass. Only voices pass through it, and only when we stop. It’s shivering, shaking with distorted echoes. How strong they have to be to reach through all that glass and smoke.
(They sometimes reach me, I can never reach them.)
– So where are we going? I asked faintly, borrowing the white cigarette from his fingers again.
– As far as we can.
– My, my, someone is being so deep today. Here’s your…
– Sure you don’t want to finish it?
*from Metallica’s “Until it sleeps”
Now be nice and don’t bite.