Melting spoons first chapter (prev titled first of the gang to die) revised and expanded

Melting Spoons

1

Reality can’t seem to make up its mind tonight.
As I reach out for the wall to keep my balance the world tilts on its side while alternately my head sways in the other direction; a Raft rocking in the Ocean, helpless.
My hand forms the shadow of a Spider on the wall as my fingers dig deep into the grooves around the bricks, crawling along. My other hand cups my stomach - I feel sick.
Lifting myself up-right I look around and all I see is the crooked silhouettes of chimneys and the shadows growing from the corners of the empty street. I have only the dim orange glow of a nearby lamp to keep me from the dark that lurks . . .
The world splits in two and everything moves and shakes like God himself is poking the Earth with his little finger and rocking it off of its axis; just for his own amusement just for my torment.
My shoulder draws blood as I rag the corpse along the wall. I don’t feel pain as such. It’s different – distant - far away; yet somehow right here with me. The cold and the Cocktail running through the blood have left me almost numb. I can hardly feel my feet my hands - the Heart.
How long have I been out here, Six minutes or six hours?
They watch me. Observing closely like the eyes on a painting that follow you around a room, yet - completely still. Eyes peering over the clouds and staring down ominously in the night sky, watching, following.
I pause for breath until the world is calm and clear no double vision no confusion just shapes and hard edges. I look back up into the night and it’s just the Moon, the good old solitary Moon, looking back; guiding dusk to darkness.
I’m at the door now - the bell “Pings” as I step inside.
The artificial light burns the eyes and cracks the skin as I squint my way down the aisle towards the freezers.
I stop for a moment allowing my vision to adjust. My eye lids flicker; like the wings of a Butterfly opening and closing, trying to absorb the sting. The harshness recedes and familiar shapes take form: cleaning products, toiletries, food, drink and whatever else gradually emerges through the yellow blotches bleaching my vision; like the after effects of staring at the Sun for too long.
The shopkeeper gives me a warm, but suspicious nod of the head. I reciprocate, returning the gesture and then smile a mouthful of rotten nuts and bolts for extra charm. He is visibly shocked.
As I slide the fridge door I catch a glimpse of something behind me, something inhuman and grotesque, a pale grey sunken eyed skeleton.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul. I stare into those dark sunken marbles and I see nothing.
I pick out the cheapest brand of Cola and slide the door back. A short fat Asian man appears behind me wearing a Jumper that could only have been given to him at Christmas – for a joke.
“You alright, mate?” He utters with a nervous twitch in his voice.
“Fine” I say, with a stone tone. He gets the point and finding another corner to spy from he proceeds to re-label the same pack of Biscuits over and over again. The labeller makes a pinching sound like a stapler.
Retracing my steps down the aisle the pinching sound stops replaced by the sound of feet scurrying across the shop floor and he appears at the till, pricing my purchase.
“Err – just the can is it, mate?” He says, plastering on a fake smile.
Then suddenly that pre-meditated curve across his face flatlines as I casually pass right by him. Like a robotic mechanism designed to go off at such an un-expected event his mouth creeks open and his head follows me like some ventriloquist’s doll, turning slowly on a stick.
Before the door closes behind me, I down the Cola in one - bad idea.
The Shop door opens and the Shopkeeper stumbles out, protesting at my henious crime. The Shop door closes, spanking his backside and nudging him toward me. “Oh . . . err! You’ve not paid for -”
I drop the Can in question.
“Pay up.” He demands; squaring up to me, hesitantly.
That “bad idea” I mentioned comes to fruition and I vomit all over that wonderful Jumper of his. He looks down at his chest, speechless. Admiring how the new colours blend? Maybe not, but I think it’s a vast improvement.
“Soz!” I make no attempt at sincerity.
We both share a special moment together as we watch the inevitable down slip of the contents of my stomach slowly run down that fashionable Jumper of his; a swamp of opaque dribbling down turning the patterned Snow flakes and Mistletoe a murky brown and now I’m totally convinced that I have actually done him a favour. But still I receive no gratitude. Being a low-life piece of shit is a thankless job, but somebodies got to live it.
Dripping from the chest he holds out his hands in indignation waiting for a further response. I have no warm words to consolidate him on this traumatic occasion and so he retreats back inside.
Turning away now I catch a glimpse of that marble eyed creature through the glass and then I blend.

I retrace my previous journey under moonlight along the wall, but this time I'm not clinging for life, well not as desperately, anyway. Blue and red lights shimmy across one side of the street lighting up windows then disappearing at the end and reappearing again on the other side Sweeping down the red brick walls and across my face. Instinct commands me to drop and collapse behind a wheeler bin. A patrol car, maybe two and a bull van. Fuck, it looks like a whole army of pigs are out there.
"Fuck you, cunt!"
I know that voice. I spy with one eye. Two of them are dragging fish arm in arm up the garden path. It's no use fighting them, mate. But going out quietly is never his style. They slam him face first over the car bonnet.
"Oh, that's right, piggy. Bend me over."
As one of them cuffs fish the other pounds him in the ribs.
"Well," fish chides, "they don't call you bastards the filth for nowt do they?"
They escort him to the back of the van, doors wide open.
"Bending boys over cars, eh?" He looks one of them in face and shouts, "eh? Pc-peadophile!"
A truncheon smashes into the back of his knee and he hangs in pain as they drag him inside. I can see other bruised and broken shadows from within as the doors slam! They drive by and I stand in the middle of the road blue and red light flashing in my face.
Not many people are given the chance to glimpse their fate, not many are given the opportunity to change it. I was . . . And You know what?
I fucked it all up.