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Damned Fucking Shit Issue 46
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Damned Fucking Shit! | | Title: Untitled
Issue #46 | : Date: 10/13/94
Editor: Access Denied | . By: Vlad The Impaler
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Untitled
I could only be dreaming. I walked down the cobblestone street well
after midnight, the arcane streetlamps casting glowing circles on the ground,
giving the night mist a whispy ghost-like appearance. The street had little
garbage on it, besides a few crumpled leaves lying dead on the sidewalk
stirring in small cyclones from a gentle breeze now and again. Above, the
night sky hung dark and foreboding, starless although cloudless. I lowered
my gaze, suddenly frightened of the inky blackness, of the feeling that there
was nothing to hold me down, that I might just float away into space at any
second. I knew it was a foolish fear, but the human race had many such fears.
A child might stay away from a dark basement like the plague, knowing in
her mind there was nothing down there to harm her, knowing in her soul
that a painfull death awaited her at the bottom of the stairs. I looked
down, keeping my eyes on the ground directly in front of my feet, watching
the gray-red brick pass below me. I looked slightly up ahead of me, trying
to find a streetsign in the gloom to tell me where I was, whether I
was nearly home, whether I was hopelessly lost. I could not yet see an
intersection ahead of me, but I peered forward nonetheless, trying to make
out the shape of the sign even through the blackness. What I did see stopped
me dead in my tracks. A man seemed to materialize out of the fog, striding
swiftly forward, his long black coat billowing out behind him. He took long,
quick steps toward me, and though I could not yet make out a singly feature
on his face I knew he was staring into my eyes. I told my legs to move, to
keep walking, to move past the man as quickly as I could and put him behind
me as fast as I could, and slowly they did move. He was closer now. I could
tell he had short, neatly combed black hair and a black beard that sharpened
the angles of his jaw. His deep-set eyes peered at me out of the darkness
of his brow, twinkling at the fear he saw in my eyes. I tried to keep my
legs steady as I came yet closer to him and found I could not. My knees
began to shake and I could not move any further. I fell to my knees under
his gaze, never able to take my eyes away from the tiny black orbs of his
eyes. He was walking in a path directly towards me. He knew I was afraid,
he could plainly see it in my eyes if not my trembling shoulders, my pale,
sweating forehead, my stricken position. He lifted his left arm and reached
inside his coat. Time stood still. I felt myself go rigid with fear.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he removed his hand from his coat. He was almost on
top of my now, his gaze still direct on my eyes, his pace never slowed. I
pictured a thousand times in my head the man pulling a handgun from his
hidden pocket and quickly, calmly ending my life, his gaze never straying
from mine. I pictured him pulling a sword from a hidden scabbord, cleanly
taking my head off, his glistening toung licking his lips as he watched my
life slip quickly away. I saw him murder me, over and over again, in the
time it took for me to blink my eyes. He now stopped, directly over me, arm
still inside his black coat. His lips parted, he drew a steady breath, and in
a deep voice instructed "Hold your hands out to me." Unable to do
otherwise, not even having the strength left to run, I held out my hands.
"Get up." he commanded to me. I rose on two shaking legs, arms still
outstretched to him as I nearly fainted with fright. His gaze finally
lowered, and he withdrew from underneath the thick black cloth of his coat
not a gun, not a knife, but a simple can of spam. He placed it in my hands,
nodded to me, and walked away into the night, leaving me standing in the
middle of the street holding a can of spam like a madman.
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