The first killing

Situations which become ridiculous and in order to justify them you
become ridiculous yourself.

So anyway there I am standing in a tenement back court, three thirty in
the morning, looking at this drainpipe.
We're talking three floors up here, I mean what's that? fifty, sixty
feet? Say sixty feet. Sixty feet to climb a drainpipe and I'm thinking
here's me with whatdoyoumecallit? That's it. Vertigo.
Sixty feet to climb a drainpipe and here's me with vertigo. I mean
vertigo for Christ's sake, 'scuse my French but talk about dodgy and I
don't just mean breaking my neck dodgy either.
I mean suspicious dodgy as in its suspicious enough just standing here
in a back court three thirty in the morning as it were but what if I'm
half way up, half way up the drainpipe or even just climbing in the
window and some wee kid or whatever sees me.
What are they going to think eh? Are they going to wake up their mum
and dad and say 'Hey mum there's some guy just back from a night out
and he's forgot his keys so naturally in order to get back into his
house he's climbing a FUCKING DRAINPIPE!
Or are they going to say 'Hey mum, there's Jack the Ripper' and before
you can say Bible John there's a dozen or so coppers below me saying
'Excuse me sir but would you mind stepping off that drainpipe'
Some wise guy no doubt, some real sarcastic P&;C and I say 'Eh
,what's seems to be the problem officer' and he'll say all sarcastic
like 'Oh we'll talk about that once you're off the FUCKING DRAINPIPE'
!
Piss taking cunt and I'll want to jump right on top of him, right of
top of his fucking head but I can't, I mean I won't because well that
would just make things worse wouldn't it?
So anyway there you have it. Its three thirty in the morning .I'm
halfway up a drainpipe thinking I'm going to fall . I'm telling you
you're going to fall! So naturally of course I grab on to the pipe even
more tightly than before, as you would right?
But the pipe's like melting in my hands. No joking. The tighter I grip,
the faster the thing starts to melt like I'm squeezing butter or
something. Then I start to feel dizzy . Bloody brilliant. I feel
really, really dizzy and I'm imagining myself falling, falling, falling
through the air like you do sometimes in one of those dreams, you know
the ones I mean, them ones where you feel like you're falling and as
soon as you hit the ground you wake up, like you would do in real life
no doubt.
But anyway I'm sweating buckets, sweat's pouring off me, pouring on to
the ground below me and my hands are definitely slipping. I'm telling
you. I'm grasping thin air, I'm losing it completely, starting to
wonder what sort of sound I'll make when I hit the ground, know what I
mean ? what sort of splat I'll make.
Nice thought by the way, nice thought to be thinking, half way up a
drainpipe forty feet from the ground half three in the morning tell you
that for fucking nothing. I'm thinking will my little body sound like a
great big egg smashing onto concrete, a sort of splaaattt splat or will
it be more like a great big dollop of porridge hitting concrete, a kind
of ssspplatt splat if you hear what I mean.
A fine time to suddenly remember why you're scared of heights, halfway
up a drainpipe, forty feet from the ground, half three in the morning.
And I think I'm definitely going to fall, no you're not, I am, really,
I can feel it, know it, head first into concrete . So anyway.... Listen
just climb the pipe.
I glance up at the window and I can see its not that far, not that far
at all, just above and to the right of me, to the right of my black
iron drainpipe. So then I climb a little further, a little to further
to fall of course but I'm nearly there, think positive, concentrating
on nothing but my window.
'You see officer....'And then before you know it I'm level with the
window, wrapping my left arm around the drainpipe and with my right
hand, push the already slightly opened window open a little
further.
I look inside the house but of course by this light, which is
practically no light I can't see anything so I take out this small
pencil torch which just happens to be in my inside jacket pocket and
point the small, narrow beam of light inside the kitchen.
I can see that I'll have to climb over this sink so I replace the small
torch in my jacket climb a little further towards the window then feet
first I back myself into the open window .O. K.? You still with
me?
Anyway, so then I find myself halfway in, halfway out, this window,
sixty feet from the ground don't forget, still holding onto the pipe
but eventually no sooner said than done I manage to grab the inside of
the window frame and turning, push myself inside like a clumsy limbo
dancer. Easy. No problem. Just like that I find myself in the dark
squatting on this sink top, so I slowly push the window back down and
quietly lower myself onto the kitchen floor.

She knew there was something wrong, in the midst of a tangled dream
deep down in the labyrinth of slumbering waters she lay on the oceans
floor engulfed by sleep, deep, deep sleep and yet just then for a
smallest briefest of moments something moved. Like a grain of sand, a
single solitary grain of sand disturbed by the whisper of a distant,
distant far beyond thought. She knew something was wrong she knew it
and yet she could not wake up.
So I'm standing in this tiny kitchen, right,? council house, darkness,
silence, apart from a ticking clock, a murmuring fridge and I'm feeling
like I've just conquered Everest and then I get the wee torch out,
click it on, scan around like.
First thing I see is a puppy dog calendar on the wall. Two Labradors
looking forlornly into the distance. I look down. Toaster, yellow,
kitchen roll, bread bin. Sideboard. Cups hanging off a vertical wooden
stand. I pick one up. A picture of a cartoon character saying "Eat my
shorts". Metal sink. Dishes in a rack. There's two yellow gloves
hanging over silver taps.
Little humorous metal things stuck on the fridge door. Against my
better judgment I open the fridge door and sure enough, eggs are
standing on the inside tray, orange juice, cheese, yoghurt, other shit,
I shut the fridge door. Lino floor. The whole place smells of lemon.
... I walk into the hallway.
Sleep, sliding crumbs of Sand, she turns her arms, body sighs,
exhaustion of such a day, of work and more, of hope and yet of more
then lifting silt uncovering slivers of glistening skins, she turns
onto her front, spreads her legs, something's wrong. Shivering wave.
Something's wrong, Turn's again, troubling thoughts. Exhaustion, sighs
but starting to rise, rise from depths but still her hands grasp fists
of sand. Hallway. A very, very narrow, fusty smelling corridor with a
couple of doors leading off it. Cheap Carpet. I can see into the living
room. Portable television. Video recorder it's unset timer flashing a
dull green line of zero's . There's a small rectangular glass table
with an ashtray on it. Clean no doubt Another ticking clock. Tick tock,
tick tock, I look for her door.
On one of the pathetic cardboard walls in the hallway is another
calendar. A wide eyed kitten looking out of a paper bag. I'm starting
to feel ill but just then I notice a sign on one of the doors. A little
rectangular sign which says Susan's bedroom, Christ! it's got flowers
on it, twirling flowers around the writing, like a wreath.
Rising faster through changing forms, but still resisting such
gravity's failing, lifted by fear towards a distant light, so I open
the door all quiet like, fading sleep, something's wrong, but falling
upwards through the sea, someone's there, and there she is, just lying
there like I pictured, still asleep.
Need to rise greater, can't breath, reach the surface air. The curtains
are slightly open the orange street lamp tanning her innocent face, her
tousled blonde hair. Cold ocean's wave of black becoming white,
someone's there, turning, the covers are half over her naked body wake
up please not.... Mum. No air. I can't breath. I decide to get on with
it. Sitting astride. Mum, don't let him... I notice a book on the
bedside table. Ben Elton. Ben fucking Elton!
That was me, from then on I lost it.