A Note From The Writer



Welcome to the archived blog posts (when I was a wee blogger, wet behind the ears and not aware of spell check and various other gramatical structures!) I have kept the writings unedited or reworked as I am in the process of doing a massive rewrite of my entire life, many posts I have yet to publish and this blog was merely writing practise for the massive job of sorting out my emotions whilst retelling the story as cuttingly real and dramatic as the real memory was.. some of the posts contained are raw, streaming emotion.. many posts although painful to write, had a tremendously cathartic effect - cheaper than therapy one would say. I welcome new and old readers to keep in touch via my author email (sensualexplorersatHotmaildotcom) if you have any questions or wish to share the feelings and emotions raised by my work.
I will announce the publish date and title whenever it happens and I have been clean now for three years. It is possible.
But it is never easy. It's a lifelong journey, I will always be an addict, but I must stay one step ahead of myself and protect all that can be ruined in the eternal struggle to be
at ease once again, comfortable in this skin.
Thank you for being a part of my story.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Angel


a slash from the future.............

Dull heartbeat so faint. Warm salty blood makes its sticky way to his tounge and he licks it. A another sharp crack to his left jaw and the skin blossoms with the bite of the blow. It's dark and dirty in this back alley yet the rain smells fresh as it dilutes the stains on the street.
They move behind him, cloaked in masks as they torture him with increasing courage and so he begins to beg. He pisses himself, he is so drunk and frightened of dying right now. He doesn't remember his own name since they broke his arm. It swings beside him, like a macarbe marionettte. The crook of his arm bends in a way that is just not right. Pain scorches through his aching muscles, many cuts and bruises blend into the wet that now covers his entire body. There is five of them. They all want to hurt him. No one wants to let him walk away without unleashing a parade of punches. They want him to give them what they want. He won't and they are growing impatient. He cries but they don't care, it only makes them more determined to break him.


His mind fades to black when he recognises the cold steel of the knife as it slices through his rain soaked t-shirt. The gang laughter rises over the lighting. over and over they slash him and cut his flesh with relish. Through his screams, the thunder roars to raise them, the rain washes the river of sticky down the drain. It was almost like it was too terrible to leave a trace, because no one hears him scream.

I am nowhere near to save him. He speaks of someone else that fateful night that came in my place and I believe him. He spoke of a magical angel that found him in his private moments of death. She wrapped her wide wings of white around his wounded soul so in that moment he felt he had a reason to live. Then she raised her perfect porcelain face to the crying heavens and wept tears which shone like pure silver..or maybe it was just the lightening ? These tears seeped into his wounds like medicated miracles and the gang sated on their revenge, finally left him to die in the shadows.
But he didn't die that night. He just had to pretend he did.
I found him alive two hours later.
They wanted to set The Ex up with our dealer and jump in and knife them and steal the dope. A drought was on and it was desperate times. Before tonight, they were all friends. They considered each other as on the same team. Then people wanted a hit more than a brother. They set him up to come out for a drink and cornered him in an isolated alley on the way home. The Ex was devastated, the cuts did not sting as much as his own sense of dignity and pride. He was inconsolable for many days afterwards. We both feared for our lives.


He didn't give in to their demands. He refused to set up The Dealer. Because even though he knew he would be tortured for not selling out; he would still be able to have a shot and forget about it. Otherwise the dealer would be dead right now. As thanks for our loyalty, our dealer shouted us a big piece of rock and told us the best thing to do was to get really stoned. And so we did.
But he was never the same and neither was I.
Did he see angels, I don't know. Maybe it was just a delusion, a crazy drunk thought dreamt up by a desperate, dying man ? But many doctors said he should've died that night. He lost so much blood and suffered brain damage.
Something saved him that night from the imminent death that had begun to shadow our moments.
This darkness waited to claim us, lurking in the shadows of our mistakes and looming in the darkest of nightmares.
It was not his time to go that night and so it retreated with a deep snicker.
But it would return. It would come to visit at a time when everything seemed so much better. Cold fingers of fate stroking me to sleep , with every passing nightmare.
I have stared death in the face and I have won. The threat of death always reminds me of the joy of being alive yet in that same wonderful moment of relief it also shatters me with the loss of the person who was not as lucky.
As I said - angels do exist. That is why he protected me, to the end.
I lived to tell you the tale, and we are about to get twisted. Not everyone had a happy ending. Fear not and brave yourself and your own fears.
I will take you to the underground if you let me.
I know my way around really well.


Just stay close and follow the angel.


angel

Whoever that may be ?


1 comment:

HeroineGirl said...

Is blogger slow this morning?
By the way this is not the continuation of the Junkie Whore Post, this is just some backstory.
It's ok guys, you can still talk !
Really, it's ok :)

I promise it ends well,
HG