promoted 8 years 6 days ago, posted 8 years 1 week ago
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Welcome to Bob's world.
It is a Monday night and the pitter patter of water droplets echo along the darkened alleyway. Blanketed in darkness the thin concrete crevasse is made from two, three-storey dwellings situated in a poor east side slum. Four metres seperate the buildings, the stench acrid, would make any down-and-out heave. The night is calm, but still the rubbish moves and rustles, a playground for all types of vermin.
At the street end a huge grey dumpster makes a thin doorway to the alley. Businesses line the street, bedrooms on the second floors. Most shops lie vacant. Others unlucky not to move to a better area stay open till 6pm, 4pm on Friday. No opening on Saturdays, save the wrath of beggers, hustlers. Even the swindlers that have a false sense of entitlement feel they not ought to work at weekends. These poor bastards are only seen on the weekends, strutting their polished four dollar shoes along the street. They give the impression on the destitute they've been working all week and can only collect their gain on Saturdays. Which is untrue. They have gangs, with no leadership. Getting drunk and high Monday to Friday is their life. A sorry life.
Not even the Police come here. The far off siren of a cop car is all you'd know of civilisation. That and the occasional foot trampling on glass at night, or a fire roaring in one of the vacated business premises. The block loved a good fire. It brought everybody out. Especially at night. A fire in all its fury was the most beautiful thing these people had ever seen.The shuffling of feet echo off the brick faces. A wide figure approaches, gaunt, hunched over with a large quilt over it's back. It had the look of a witch about it. The right foot steps forward, the left follows along the ground. The left shoe unmistakenly worn away more than the other. A few more steps and it stops just under one of the few lamp lights still working on the street. A bright orange glow, flickering in the darkness and then goes away. Few seconds later it reappears. A billow of smoke rises and is illuminated in the light.
The hunched figure scuffles off slowly into the alleyway behind the grey dumpster. Walking further in, the narrow path gets darker and more forbidding. Huge black garbage bags take up a large section of the wall to the right hand side. Sewage and putrid liquid seep through the ripped plastic, ever tediously sliding its viscous form down the drain in the middle of the alley. The round figure stops, throwing its shoulders back, letting the large heavy blanket fall to the ground. The wretched vagabond bends down and picks the corners of the blanket up, trailing it to the left hand side wall. A few foldings, pushings and pattings, and the tramp is assured it is worthy of a night of restless sleep. The sound of knees cracking and creeking sound off the wall as the tramp lowers itself down on the blanket. It sighs. The hood is thrown back to reveal a woman of middle-age. But who could tell in this place.
Placing a hand inside her jacket she brings out a small and dirtied plastic pipe and a green tin. Opening it she delicately tips the remnants into the pipe. Setting the pipe on her lap she clicks the tin shut and puts it back in her puffy jacket. Retrieving her hand out she cups a shiny silver zippo. Most likely stolen a few blocks away. Bringing the pipe to her mouth she tilts her head back and flicks the zippo. The dark and dank alley is dimly lit as the light dances and flickers off the walls. The middle-aged looking woman grunts loudly, throwing the lit pipe in her jacket. She tries to stand up as quickly as she can but struggles, showing plain signs of the arthritis in her knees. Nearly forgetting her blanket she trails it behind her, waddling out of the darkness of the alley as fast as the poor girl's legs could muster. Off to the right she vanishes.
............Two days earlier..............
It's near dusk on Saturday evening and a foreboding calm fills the squalor street. A peaceful presence not often found on these streets. Not a soul to experience it. A ghost town. Menacing sounds begin to be heard. Shouting. A low muffled sound but definite shouting. Inaudible speech. Somewhere on the street a man is sitting in one of the buildings. Sitting on a chair his arms are positioned around the back of it, tied together with a frayed rope.
"Where's the money shithead. We told you ten hours. It's past that. So where is the money shithead"
The sitting man bows his head and sobs, his long hair drenched in sweat. His shoulders thrown back and forward with every sob he releases.
"Please I d..d..don't have it" he sniffles. Mucus from his nose drips onto the floor.
"I'm sorry but that ain't an option. We know you 'have' money. What we are trying to establish is 'where' that money is. HHmmm, any idea?"
"Look please I've got daughter. She's only four." sniffle "Please."
The man asking the questions is sitting on a chair two feet opposite him, the chair turned the other way, with his legs on either side of the back rest. He leans his body forward, rocking the chair to and fro.
"Listen Bob if...if...if.."
"Quit stuttering ya old quack and tell us where the loot be"
"Please I don't have any money to give you. I would no no, Bob no no no..."
A shot reverberates around the enclosed room. Blood spurts out of the sittin man's knee. He winces and groans in pain. His breathing becoming
"What da fuck". Hissing from the mouth. "You shot me you piece of shit"
"Yeah and there's more where that came from if ya don't start spilling some beans" Bob says, placing the revolver back into his coat.
"Eat shit". The crippled man spits a wad of saliva menacingly at Bob.
Bob glides a palm across his face from left to right, wiping the spit away. Then a long pause as Bob stares at the tied up man.
"Jip go upstairs. Find the money"
"Don't but me you fool, do it".
The tall skinny figure of a man named Jip hurriedly walks upstairs. Bob stands up, pulling the chair from under him and violently throws it against the wall to the left. The broken man tied by his hands looks up at the figure above him.
"Go fuck yourself Bob. You're nothing but scum around here." Bob grabs the man by the scruff and viciously throws him to the ground, breaking up the wood-worm ridden chair. Jumping on top of him he pins his legs down. Grabbing him by the scruff he pulls him, his arms still tied around his back, and throws him back down with tremendous force.
"Aaagghhh" gargles the tied up man. "You broke my fucking arm"
"Goodie gumdrops" Bob replies. "Here it comes"
"Here what comes" the crippled man blurts out spewing up blood.
"My face" Bob replies with a cheeky grin.
Bob pulls the man's shoulders up again, raises his head up and smashes his forehead onto the bloodied face of the crippled man, his head crashing back down on the wooden floor.
"Aaahhh fuck that was sore" winces Bob."Cant stop though"
Bob head flies back and is forced once again onto the face of the man below. Back again, forward, now with even greater lust and affirmation that what he is doing is the right thing. Bob's head flies back, blood spatters over the table nearby. His forehead crashes back down, making a crunch of the man's nose.
"Please b..b..b.Bob...no...no.." Smash the heavy head collides with the man's teeth, breaking apart the whole front row".
"I ba.ba..ba.beg you.." A crack echos around the room as the man's skull fractures. Bob's starts shouting now.
"Aaaarghh" he cries with every vicious headbutt, spewing more blood every which way. The throws of his head grow with rapidity. Faster and faster he breaks the man's face open.
"Aaaagh", the head goes back, then forward, 'crack'. "Aaaagh", the head goes back, then forward, 'crack'. "Aaaagh", the head goes back, then
forward, 'crack'. Bob throws his head back a final time. His heart thumping, his face dripping with blood and sweat. Looking down he sees a body without life, a face unrecognisable. No nose to speak of, eyes closed shut, puffed out the size of pears. Huge gashes. Red all over. A poll of blood on the floor, seeping through cracks in the boards. His heartbeat slows, his grunts become quieter. Looking to his left he sees Jip standing there, paralysed with fear. Bob stares at Jip unblinkingly.
"What...did you do"
Bob looks back down at his creation. He licks his lips, lapping up the tainted taste of foreign blood.
"Help me get him outta here". Bob stands up and grabs his head. "Well what ya waiting for"
Jip pauses then cautiously walks over and lifts the dead man's legs. They usher him to the back of the building, through to a kitchen. Opening a side door they guide the body through and into a darkened alley.
"Further down" replies Bob. They quietly walk a bit furhter deeper down the alleyway.
They crab walk to the right hand side wall.
"Right ya ready. Lower him down". The two men lower the body onto the wet ground just beside some garbage bags. They straighten their backs again and look at each other. Bob twitches his head to the left eagerly, "let's go" Bob commands. Bob and the tall skinny figure walk along the dark alleyway and exit.
Their footsteps growing softer and softer until finally nothing is heard from the position of the alleyway. The alley is silent again but for a serene sound. The sound of pitter patter. The beautiful sound of water droplets falling from a high gutter onto concrete below. 'Pit......pit........pit.......pit.......'