The Dead Water Dirges Pt. 1
By Christine Dunleavy

There was a clash of incomprehensible noise exiting the mouth of that man, he was tall and lanky with the face of a snake, slithering along the street with a shattered toothless inebriation. It looked like somebody had taken more than a rock to his face, like a shoe to a rabid rat or a hammer to a crooked nail. Either way, he was bashed up and mashed out. His body moved forward, dimly lit between shadow and light produced by the street lamps, who spat and flickered oil from their twisted metal mouths. He tangled himself between brothels and other run down, tattered, waste of space, buildings with faceless names and no names to their faces. Each peel of paint, and splintered plank was most uninviting except for the promise of certain scarlet women who flushed the insides like maggots to a carcass. The dark night sky was smeared with smog and shadows of the near by factories that lay on the innards of the city. Surrounding, was the trembling prairie where no flesh dare enter unless forced by some godforsaken power. It showcased and housed the many bizarre and unknown to the world.

It was the nighttime. Night brought about the outcasted and forsaken of the city. It was a time where these beasts could crawl the city free of ridicule or fear.

 

The Dead Water Dirges Pt. 2
Back To Writings