The shriek
By benafim
The Shriek The bar’s door opened and a nicotine infested shaft of light was thrown out. Above corny music, hoarse laughter. The door slammed shut and the hurt but not mortally so, shaft crawled along the kerb climbed a lamppost and blended with dejected yellow light. Underneath the lamppost, a badly lit stage, a woman, scantly dressed, stood she had something to sell, but in the dismal light her face looked like a death mask and since there were few necrophiliacs about, on this slow Monday night, she had to wait long before she could go back into the bar and seek comfort amongst fellow losers. On the other side of the street a bus stopped, wheezing doors opened, for a moment she had an audience of stony faced shift workers going home, they didn’t applaud her heroic effort to look sexy. Diesel fume wafted through still air and come to rest on murky asphalt as a sullied rainbow. When the bus left her body shrunk, tears found cracks in a ruined face and the echo of a silent scream shifted dust on pavements. Written February 14th, 2002 © on Feb 14 2002 03:30 AM PST 0 • 9
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"The Shriek ..."