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halloweenamericana.peperonity.net

A short story shop number 3- echos

The cold lonely echos of the cold lonely footsteps. The streetlights burn their ambiguity over the orange street. Why orange? Why not white?
The dark in a struggle for light. And cats eyes shining.
The night as cold and arrogantly stubornly cold as the only heart walking down it.
A silhouette. A man. Maybe not... Maybe a woman... Maybe not.
Eyes you could hold a gaze with for eternity, while the world woke and died and woke again. Eyes so innocent, so hurt, so sorry, so hungry. For love.
Eyes that bridge the gap between another world, you could hold a gaze with for eternity, without knowing who´s they were. Eyes that reveal so much and give so little away.Nothing on either side of the street, just picture perfect suburban houses, with their picture perfect families and their picture perfect lives. Picture perfect hair, picture perfect smile, picture perfect figure, picture perfect denile.

An occasional glance across; ikea furniture and the flavour of the week, painted faces inside.

But the cold pulls you back to the street.
Another silhouette. In the distance.
On the floor.
Directly in the spot light. The star of the show.
A drunken homeless büm, about to give you grief? No.
A stupid trick your eyes are playing on you? Just some bin bags in the shape of something recogniseable? No.

Two bright lights get closer on the street and sparkle and fade, thats a trick of tired eyes. The noise of the engine fades. Back again to just a dark street as if the lights and noise never were.
The silhouette is getting closer. No, that can´t be, its on the floor it isn´t moving. You are getting closer. Thats right, shìtty tired eyes.

A beautiful black pool lying by the head, glisening in the light. Strange to think, a silhouette in the light.
Closer. Closer still. Beside it now.
The black liquid all over the body, only made black by the dark and the orange light. How long passed as you stood and looked at the silhouette, cannot be sure of. Too long either way.

Questions start to ask themselves "who?" "why" "how", then a volcabulary arrives "Has anyone seen this?" "Is someone going to do something?"
Surely someone is doing something. All these perfect homes. All these perfect families. The car.
Surely someone is doing something? More reassuring this time.
Once more and you might believe it. beLIEve it. Surely someone....
Has already phoned for an ambulance, its on its way. They´ve just gone to get their first aid box.
Just walk away, someone else will, is dealing with it.
Poor fool probably deserved it to.

The cold lonely echos of the cold lonely footsteps start again.
A quick glance to the left into a picture perfect home.
The painted face looking back isn´t doing anything either.


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