Narrator:
He walked in so slowly. A normal drunk… A normal drunk is what he was, you’d think. Intoxicated spirits surrounded him- Hiccuping; his words a rancid pong. ‘After you consume the drink, the drink’ll consume you’… I never believed that saying until I saw him… I never had reason to. But then again, we don’t believe some things until they are staring us right in our faces, breathing on our ears… The drink had consumed him completely; the memory had eaten up his person and the drink had eaten up his life, leaving him a sombre satisfied soul. He never told me his name, only his story was given to me, his name wasn’t important to him, I guess. His name was just a copy of a copy of a copy; everyone has a name, chosen by their parents when they were in a cot, too content to protest, but no-one has the same memories, no-one has the same fear or the same goal; we’re all twisted but in death, he was Sinister:
*
I saw him in a retail park called Grinstead, a few miles East of London, the park bustling with a few hundred people trying to get home. It was cold and the cold followed as the people ran to their cars for shelter. He stood out more sinister than the rest: A man with a tall rigid build, with a brazen face that was moonlit and scarred. Sinister Predatory yellow eyes; darting predatory eyes, glazed over because of the drink and alert as the streetlights skated on them, like a dozen little nymphs on a golden yellow rink, trying not to sink into the black hole - Startling pupils ricocheted around the street and took in everything… His eyes were mesmerizing with the opposite of a narcotic effect, they were terrifying. He had on a black shirt, tattered and worn, overlaying a pair of ripped jeans creased at the hip where they hung down. The crease was crumpled and glaring. A cut in the fabric at the thigh protested, ripping at the task of containing the thick muscle moving under it, the red skin it was supposed to encase stretched, cracked and bled sinister crimson tears.
*
As the events go, I’m quite certain that I remember everything with enough accuracy; I wrote it down as if it were a séance. I remember everything as though it were now, nothing is forgotten:
This dead man walking, Sinister approaching from a DIY store just as the park is closing; just as everyone is surging to the mass of cars parked in the small pay-to-stay lot, in the crowd he is but a tiny dot.
He aims A sinister glare at me and all around; a fermented stare at everyone... This man, the becoming of my nightmare stands- On legs meant for bounding; rippled muscles tensed, his legs move like water- Freely but not quickly, unless circumstances permit it. This night a storm is converging. Wind blows his hair... Matted, tanned brown hair. Blonde at the roots and thin with a patch appearing at the top of his scalp… Bear-like muscles tensed he proceeds deliberately towards us, the horde of consumers, in assembly to be consumed. No-one notices him even though in his hand a gun is drawn; he waits a while to be seen but all are pre-occupied with their new fixing toys, old women and boys. He grunts and fires a shot in the air. A whole body of people shift themselves and stare at this monster- this man. They don’t scream or shout or make any sound, and aside from the shuffling of feet, of commotion, the land is obsolete. Sinister’s mind goes blank; a show of disinterest wasn’t his plan. Swivelling on his foot and catching glances... Undisturbed and almost annoyed, they land. Just seeing, sinister one looks on. His mind is set upon one goal, take the money; His tarnished objective- warped by a confused cause.
*
Sinister’s flashbacks:
Remembering an apartment full of memories of children and a wife on death row, bloodstreaked walls and glass layered floors.
A dream he had- Getting enough money to feed hungry fading mouth; his mission to feed the mouths fading into an abyss after they were possesed by the government five years ago. It’s a fantasy this man is feeding on, becoming intoxicated by dreams; reality is too scared to reprimand his rampant soul.
*
Predacious yellow eyes look at me; he just looks at me and finally he sees: A thrust, a push, a painful stranglehold! I, his single Hostage taken just as red lights begin to show.
Red lights lacking sirens- half the costume, half the valiance, trying to sneak up to arrest this giant. This voracious beast! Come from the wilderness to destroy the pleasurable lives of the sheep. Sheep, oblivious to the epic unfolding, oblivious to the way the moon shines so brightly, the way that the sky is bathed in red… Oblivious to how foreboding it is that the sky is bathed in red! Half a dozen squad cars arrive to earn their badges; the horde of consumers groan in unison, dismayed at losing their precious time to fix their doors and mop their hallways, to cook and sleep…
Confused- Sinister, like Goliath holds me; I’m hoping it’s a scare because one move is all that’s needed to break my Neck’s what he told me.
A congregation runs out; a million pistols drawn, anxious faces staring at this man, this philistine, this living wall… They fumble. Pulling together, a commander is drawn; weapons unfolding from this cult, its very core… And, oh so sinister…
*
Goliath: His memory from five years before… A man in a suit holds his daughters hand and leads her to the door; his son all so willingly follows. Goliaths eye’s gloss over, he desperately shouts:
“No! Don’t take them. They’re my only reason. I can fix this place up. Please- No!”
The social worker turns his head and quickens pace, Goliath drops to his knees and sober tears grace the glassy floor...
*
Goliath loosens his hold on me, his eye’s twinkle. A sad smile possesses his face as the humour of his circumstance begins to resonate. A guffaw escapes his lips and I join in just to show him I care, for that moment all is well… Not as sinister as before.
Reality re-enters and for a second Goliaths mind is caught in space. So slowly his hand starts to elevate. A word forming on his lips, a tear forming in his eye’s…
A sinister shot in the dark...
In the blood red sky a star fades, Goliath droops; shoulders sag and hand darts to the already soaked hole in his chest... Goliaths hand- Rose red, crimson, hands me a bloodied scroll; his last breath escapes him just like any other.
THUD!
My shirt clings to me as I understand. A voice calls out… A man dressed to the shoulders with badges. His chest a mosaic of red, silver and gold- Several badges and hair discoloured white; the decorated commander:
"Shooting at a man with a hostage! Was that necessary?"
"We were trying to protect everyone else in this retail park" Comes the reply
The commander bows his head. Organising thoughts- a look at the giant- An accepting nod… The congregation refolds; calling an ambulance they all go home, not even taking a glance at the beast on the floor dead, Sinister leaving for an undertaker’s bed…
-Sinister.
By Ephraim Luwemba
