Hesha
Godfather of Hartwurst
- Registriert
- 5. Juni 2005
- Beiträge
- 9.781
Hallo,
mein nächstes Machwerk poste ich mal besser Abschnittsweise, sonst liest es wieder keiner
The night after tomorrow
This misty night is keeping the tradition of the grayish day it follows. It's 10 p.m. and I’m sitting at a bus station next to a club, pretty popular among those in Freshman-year.
“Easy prey”, I whisper as a couple of girls close up. Rising from the plastic-bench I consider myself pretty smart, a hunter of sorts. As I match my pace to the girls’ I notice I’ve almost grown a custom to this. Maybe I’m getting old… we’ll see.
I slightly accelerate my movement. Just quick enough to catch up with the girls before they reach the club. Walking a couple of steps behind them I smell the mixture of their perfumes. “Deep Red”, I say to myself and I can’t help from smiling, for this scent brings joyful memories back to my mind. Sophie used to wear it. What an inspiring, naïve girl. But she’s history. At least a month must have passed since we met the last time. “Call me!”, she said. Sure…
The girls are talking about the usual nonsense. I listen to them to determine their kind of nonsense. Finally one of the girls turns around and looks at me. “Hi there!”, I hear myself saying. She’s quite a beauty, definitely the Deep-Red-girl. There’s something in her eyes that disturbs me. She’s a quite tall, skinny girl, maybe 20 years old with long brown hair and a pretty face. I can’t say, if she’s wearing any make-up, but she’s looking great in her camouflage tank top and grey Jeans. I shiver with excitement as she replies. Now the other girls turn around. That’s the moment you have to keep control at.
I keep smiling and greet all of them.
“Hi, are you heading for the Asylum, too?” Sure they are. We small talk until we reach the entrance.
“Jo, Jimmy. How's it going?” I look at the great hulk of a man standing in front of the door.
“Just fine, Cesar. How are you?” I believe this man will always be grateful to me, for making him meet his Maria. We shake hands and I can’t help from being hugged. Well, I guess girls like respected men and Cesar’s a nice guy. I get in for free and I also smuggle in the Deep-Red-girl. This usually impresses younger girl. Her name is Lesley. I’ve never had a Lesley before.
I love this place. The Asylum is the home of contrasts: The slippery, filthy atmosphere meets the most accurately cleaned floor, the polished glasses along with couches as neat as Mom’s are, down in Atlanta. Customers dressed and made-up like grotesque caricatures from a Tim Burton movie with alienated faces and strange haircuts, talking about their ‘Alma Mater’.
In the entrance hall we wait for the other girls and I use the time to prepare my hunt.
“What did you register for?”, I yell at her, for this must be the noisiest room of all. I’ve learned the names of most of the professors and read some books on the most common studies. She turns to me, bends forward and answers:
“Psychopathology!” Wow, these eyes. Psychopathology?! I’ve met a girl studying that before, but she told me it was Biology. She thought it would make me feel uneasy.
“Wow, what’s it like?”, I ask actually being interested in her answer. Her response in addition to her eyes makes me lose my concentration for a second:
“I can’t tell. Somehow I feel home among the insane.” Then she starts giggling and I see her friends walking in.
We enter the club and the other girls all seem to have their boyfriends waiting for them. Well, I guess I’ve chosen the right girl. My usual seat is still vacant and so I accompany Lesley to the couch. I like this corner of the room, because you have quite a view on the dance floor.
“Can I get you something to drink, Lesley?”, I ask, as I always do.
“No, thanks. I’m not thirsty.”, she replies and so I get myself a beer. I sit down, next to her and start a conversation:
“So, where are you from? You look like a Jersey Girl to me…”
“How’d you now that? I actually come from Atlantic City. But it’s lame there, so I went to the Big Apple and… here I am.”, she smiles and I dream away for a moment. These eyes…
“Atlantic City is boring? I thought it was the ‘East Coast Vegas’, some of my colleagues go there at the weekends. Why didn’t you like it there?”, I ask her, playing the ignorant city kid.
“For the same reason why you left Atlanta, I guess.”, she says and makes me spit a zip of beer back in my glass.
“How do you know I’m from Atlanta? I didn’t tell you!”, I wonder.
“Oh, I guessed… so I was right. You looked like someone from Atlanta to me.”, she aped me and we started to laugh. But it still feels strange, how can she know where I’m from? We talk on for a while and sometime around midnight I ask her to dance. First she hesitates, but finally I persuade her and we step on the dance floor. A slow Dark Wave song starts, she seems to know and she wraps her arms around my neck. She is rather cold to the touch, somehow I like that. I gently touch her lower back and she slowly pushes her knee between my legs.
“She asks for it…”, I think and hold her a bit closer. As we dance, I look into her eyes and the strange feeling I have since I first saw them some hours ago intensifies. I wonder what these disturbing, green eyes remind me of, but before I come to a conclusion Lesley pulls her lips to my ear and whispers:
“You feel like a psychotic serial-killer who looks into a mirror and recognizes, that he himself will be his final victim, don’t you?” That’s it. That’s exactly what I feels like, looking in her eyes. I push her away and take some steps backward before I turn around and run to the exit. I keep running until I reach my motorcycle and drive home immediately. That. Was. Freaking. Nuts.
But still I can’t forget her eyes. There’s something about her eyes that attracts me in a, I have to admit, sick way. I find it hard to fall asleep and I keep turning around on my sheets. I throw in some pills and soon I fall into a dreamless slumber.
>*<
Wie gefällt es Euch soweit? Schreibt was...
mein nächstes Machwerk poste ich mal besser Abschnittsweise, sonst liest es wieder keiner
The night after tomorrow
This misty night is keeping the tradition of the grayish day it follows. It's 10 p.m. and I’m sitting at a bus station next to a club, pretty popular among those in Freshman-year.
“Easy prey”, I whisper as a couple of girls close up. Rising from the plastic-bench I consider myself pretty smart, a hunter of sorts. As I match my pace to the girls’ I notice I’ve almost grown a custom to this. Maybe I’m getting old… we’ll see.
I slightly accelerate my movement. Just quick enough to catch up with the girls before they reach the club. Walking a couple of steps behind them I smell the mixture of their perfumes. “Deep Red”, I say to myself and I can’t help from smiling, for this scent brings joyful memories back to my mind. Sophie used to wear it. What an inspiring, naïve girl. But she’s history. At least a month must have passed since we met the last time. “Call me!”, she said. Sure…
The girls are talking about the usual nonsense. I listen to them to determine their kind of nonsense. Finally one of the girls turns around and looks at me. “Hi there!”, I hear myself saying. She’s quite a beauty, definitely the Deep-Red-girl. There’s something in her eyes that disturbs me. She’s a quite tall, skinny girl, maybe 20 years old with long brown hair and a pretty face. I can’t say, if she’s wearing any make-up, but she’s looking great in her camouflage tank top and grey Jeans. I shiver with excitement as she replies. Now the other girls turn around. That’s the moment you have to keep control at.
I keep smiling and greet all of them.
“Hi, are you heading for the Asylum, too?” Sure they are. We small talk until we reach the entrance.
“Jo, Jimmy. How's it going?” I look at the great hulk of a man standing in front of the door.
“Just fine, Cesar. How are you?” I believe this man will always be grateful to me, for making him meet his Maria. We shake hands and I can’t help from being hugged. Well, I guess girls like respected men and Cesar’s a nice guy. I get in for free and I also smuggle in the Deep-Red-girl. This usually impresses younger girl. Her name is Lesley. I’ve never had a Lesley before.
I love this place. The Asylum is the home of contrasts: The slippery, filthy atmosphere meets the most accurately cleaned floor, the polished glasses along with couches as neat as Mom’s are, down in Atlanta. Customers dressed and made-up like grotesque caricatures from a Tim Burton movie with alienated faces and strange haircuts, talking about their ‘Alma Mater’.
In the entrance hall we wait for the other girls and I use the time to prepare my hunt.
“What did you register for?”, I yell at her, for this must be the noisiest room of all. I’ve learned the names of most of the professors and read some books on the most common studies. She turns to me, bends forward and answers:
“Psychopathology!” Wow, these eyes. Psychopathology?! I’ve met a girl studying that before, but she told me it was Biology. She thought it would make me feel uneasy.
“Wow, what’s it like?”, I ask actually being interested in her answer. Her response in addition to her eyes makes me lose my concentration for a second:
“I can’t tell. Somehow I feel home among the insane.” Then she starts giggling and I see her friends walking in.
We enter the club and the other girls all seem to have their boyfriends waiting for them. Well, I guess I’ve chosen the right girl. My usual seat is still vacant and so I accompany Lesley to the couch. I like this corner of the room, because you have quite a view on the dance floor.
“Can I get you something to drink, Lesley?”, I ask, as I always do.
“No, thanks. I’m not thirsty.”, she replies and so I get myself a beer. I sit down, next to her and start a conversation:
“So, where are you from? You look like a Jersey Girl to me…”
“How’d you now that? I actually come from Atlantic City. But it’s lame there, so I went to the Big Apple and… here I am.”, she smiles and I dream away for a moment. These eyes…
“Atlantic City is boring? I thought it was the ‘East Coast Vegas’, some of my colleagues go there at the weekends. Why didn’t you like it there?”, I ask her, playing the ignorant city kid.
“For the same reason why you left Atlanta, I guess.”, she says and makes me spit a zip of beer back in my glass.
“How do you know I’m from Atlanta? I didn’t tell you!”, I wonder.
“Oh, I guessed… so I was right. You looked like someone from Atlanta to me.”, she aped me and we started to laugh. But it still feels strange, how can she know where I’m from? We talk on for a while and sometime around midnight I ask her to dance. First she hesitates, but finally I persuade her and we step on the dance floor. A slow Dark Wave song starts, she seems to know and she wraps her arms around my neck. She is rather cold to the touch, somehow I like that. I gently touch her lower back and she slowly pushes her knee between my legs.
“She asks for it…”, I think and hold her a bit closer. As we dance, I look into her eyes and the strange feeling I have since I first saw them some hours ago intensifies. I wonder what these disturbing, green eyes remind me of, but before I come to a conclusion Lesley pulls her lips to my ear and whispers:
“You feel like a psychotic serial-killer who looks into a mirror and recognizes, that he himself will be his final victim, don’t you?” That’s it. That’s exactly what I feels like, looking in her eyes. I push her away and take some steps backward before I turn around and run to the exit. I keep running until I reach my motorcycle and drive home immediately. That. Was. Freaking. Nuts.
But still I can’t forget her eyes. There’s something about her eyes that attracts me in a, I have to admit, sick way. I find it hard to fall asleep and I keep turning around on my sheets. I throw in some pills and soon I fall into a dreamless slumber.
>*<
Wie gefällt es Euch soweit? Schreibt was...