Night Bus

Billy Joel is playing on my ipod, the night and miles are slipping away to the Piano Man. There is a certain appeal to travelling at night it’s almost like a night flight from a Tolkien or spy novel. Slipping away at night without attracting any attention. Man! Does you mind wander on long bus journeys. Looking around the dimly lit bus cabin seeing the different characters. There’s an old man sitting next to me admiring the pretty girl in the row ahead of us. The old man has a rather stately distinguished look, his hair and beard both neatly trimmed half moon spectacles sitting on the bridge of his nose. To finish off he has a pipe clenched between his teeth.

The woman looked like she had just fallen out of the Casino Royale in Montenegro. Elegance personified with hair that shimmered in the over head lights, and draped in diamonds that sparkled like a thousand constellations, in the rays from the street lights. Observing these two and how out of place they seem on the night bus bound west. My mind wanders again this time to the sound of Bob Dylan’s Subterranean Homesick Blues. It wanders in a new direction, inspired by these two strangers as to what chain of events led them to this time and place. My tired mind weaves their stories together and moves backwards through a series of events that may or may not have happened all to the tune of Bob Dylan.

My mind wanders into the past first back to a time when men carried hip flasks and cigarette tins. To what seemed like a much more sophisticated and timeless era. Back through events that have shaped the world we live in today, back past the first gulf war, past Vietnam even back past world war II. It wanders to a time shortly after the great depression. It’s 1931 in a Chicago Jazz Club, the room is thick with cigarette smoke and everyone is sharply dressed in suits and dresses. The man at the bar ordering his drink seems familiar something about him, an aura of familiarity that I’ve seen him before. The moment passes and he moves away from the bar and takes his seat near the dance floor. The men that he has sat with do not stand out on first glance. On a second glance however one notices the fine cut of their jackets and unmistakable bulge, that signals that they are armed.

Crouched low over the table that wards off any would be eavesdroppers. The business they discuss must be important. Watching them from afar imagination runs wild each possible topic much more improbable than the last. By the time I stop day dreaming about what their conversation it has ended and the familiar man is dancing with some stunning red head. The band plays out and the club starts to empty. Something compels me to follow the man. I don’t know why but I do, back to his hotel where I rent the nearest room I can. All these things I do out of instinct for no reason that I can fathom. With a stroke of luck my room is next to his. (Almost like someone was writing this. What happens next who knows?)

Sleep comes and it’s several hours later when I wake and begin to recongise the familiarity of the hotel room. Automatically I place my ear to the wall that I share with the man from the club. The rhythmic rumble of his snores let me know that he is still there and sleeping. With my curiosity about this man peaked, it’s time to for some pondering and piecing together of what has happened in the last 24 hours. Tracking back through the ether of memories events shape themselves into a scenario, the situation builds itself like a movie. The charismatic bank robber who’s stolen the countries heart and the relentless dedicated law man trying to catch him. The only question left to answer is which part do I play?

Still pondering my role in the unfolding story I leave for breakfast. The diner down the road gets recommended by the hotelier. Wandering down the street wrapped up in my own thoughts I fail to notice the gentleman that has appeared beside me. He walks lockstep with me to the diner and sits beside me in the diner, drinks his coffee then leaves. He left his cheque book behind him. On the back is my name, a place and a time…………..

Published in: on October 28, 2009 at 1:52 pm Leave a Comment

The Manor

The man in black pauses for a moment of reflection on his foe. There is a part of him that envies the man in red. Since that night he likes to think that the man in red has led a peaceful life, he even has a family now. He leads the life that all mercenaries dream of, a peaceful life. The last of the morning fog burns away as the last of the column of workers winds its way through towards the fields. The moment of envy passes and he sets off towards the manor of the man in red.


The paving on the road that cuts through the heart of the forest that borders the town and hems in the man in reds manor is travel worn, the trees at the side are impeccably kept and offer a sharp contrast to unkempt ones that lie just past the forest border. The forest seems eternal in contrast to the recent settlement near the docks, who knows what tales the trees in the forest would tell if they could talk. Generations of observing the comings and goings of man and other creatures.


The path way seems to have been constructed purposefully to reach the man in red’s residence. There are no branches or crossroads, but that suits the man in black. There are no distractions on this path, no chances to go a different way. The man in black is committed to this path whatever it’s outcome. The gun belts are starting to fell like a ton weight, the companions that have saved his life more times than he can remember start to feel like a house guest that has outstayed their welcome. He’s just waiting to get rid of them because one way or another he’s going to be finished with them tonight.
The forest track winds closer to the fortress, the sun begins to set and in his mind a bell begins to toll. The gun belts creak in as he adjusts them so he can get the drop on the man in red. The sun has set as he reaches the gates of the fortress, the sentries wave him past, the man in red is expecting him it seems.


Something about that sets him on edge. He was sure that the sentries observed him on the forest path but just to be waved through. This is new and the man in black doesn’t like that. New situations are dangerous and one seldom leaves them alive. The door to the manor opens smoothly as the man in black approaches. No creaking, the hairs on his neck stand a sure sign that something is wrong. As he makes his way through the manor he smells blood on the air. There is something wrong here, he thinks back to his approach to the manor and realises that the sentries never moved from where they standing on the wall. That combined with the thick almost pungent smell of blood sets the dice rolling in his head and he involuntarily draws his guns. He realises that the man in red is more that likely dead or gravely wounded. Revenge and honour seem lost to him at the moment.


He pushes those thoughts from his mind and continues his way through the manor. Needlessly checking every room, he knows where the creature that did this are. His pragmatic nature shows in this checking every room. Eventually he reaches the main hall and the shock of what he sees makes him fall to his knees and the guns slip from his hands. In front of him is a scene that he had hoped never to see. The man in red is missing his hands and feet, his head is hanging on by a sliver of flesh and there is a symbol carved into his chest. The symbol is of two dragons arranged in the shape of a ying yang. The symbol that is burned into the back of his head, he remembers it from his youth when he was a part of the monarch’s assassin squad. They always said it was a life service. But himself and the man in red never believed that. Since they were the best in the squad. Only one surpassed them and he is here now. In thirty years of living free as a mercenary he has killed seventy five of the monarchs assassins. To have this one sent after them though means that they do want the two of them dead and no mistakes.

Published in: on June 25, 2009 at 5:03 pm Leave a Comment
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The Haunted Mansion

“Hello”


“Who said that?”


“The master of the house”


“But this is my house”


“No, it’s my house, you are trespassing”


“But I bought this house”


“The house was stolen from me, you bought stolen property”


“What happens now?”


“You Die!”


Seven and two thirds months later. The house is still for sale after the horrific murder of it’s previous purchaser. The realtor has branded it unsellable, the house’s history is too big a deterrent for any would be owner. It’s a shame as the house really is magnificent. An old Georgian estate set in forty acres of what were once pristine gardens complete with fountains and a guest house down by the lake. The estate always seemed so peaceful until ninety years ago. What happened that summer has been lost to the sands of time. All that is known is that a tragedy occurred, the family that was living in the house mysteriously disappeared. No trace was ever found, the only thing out of place in the house was that the taps had been left on. Since then anyone who has taken up occupancy in the house has met a horrific death. Even those seeking shelter from a storm for a single night have never been heard from again.


The grounds of the estate have mirrored the house’s unfriendliness. A dark cloud has descended across the entire estate. The lake that was once like a mirror for the sky is now dank and a place of respite for evil things that despise the light of day. The woods have become havens for creatures whose only instinct is too kill. The realtor mourns the loss of the house to something that no one can quite understand. Obviously as a mature sensible adult he is too old to believe in such things as ghosts or spirits but what other explanation can there be?


The wind rustles outside and the door creaks open. A man steps in, he appears to be a middle aged man with not long and not short hair everything about him seems so hard to describe. He’s more than average but less than either of the extremes. It’s hard to describe him as when you try to concentrate on him your mind seems to wander. It’s strange I’ve never seen anyone like him. I realise he is talking to me and try to resume my calm customer manner. He’s asking about buying an estate, he’s describing the estate to me but I can’t quite place where he’s talking about. Then after he mentions the guest house by the lake the realisation dawns on me like the morning fog burning away that he is talking about the haunted mansion. He was describing what it must have looked like before the tragedy occurred.


He seems to know that it was once like before the tragedy occurred. How can that be? It’s been nearly a century since it happened and he looks just short of middle aged. It’s impossible to think that someone at his age could remember the estate in it’s prime. Against my better judgement I agree to show him the house later that day. I would lie and say that this is just another showing but I am forced to admit that I’m scared about this showing. I’m terrified at the thought of opening the house and going inside the house and showing someone around the house. But the manner that the man has is so self assured that I couldn’t help but agree to show him the house.


There hasn’t been anyone in the house in thirty years. It must be an absolute wreck and complete wreck inside but the man insists on seeing it. Waiting for the man at the gates to the house, it’s strange I see him coming but he’s not driving he’s just walking. It’s strange as the estate is not quite remote but there is no public transport that goes near the estate. The wind stirs the trees that line the street, yet his coat is untouched. This is one of the strangest characters that I’ve ever met.


Just as we approach the manor the sky clouds over. A voice booms across the sky, “Who enters my property?”. The man looks thoughtfully around before he replies……

Published in: on February 5, 2009 at 3:04 pm Leave a Comment

The Man in Black

The man in black embarks on his quest across the ocean, pulled westwards by an unknown force. He heads west to the unexplored land where the only thing that is certain is that his story is coming to it’s conclusion. It is a feeling in his bones that it feels like a changing of the guards, a new breed of mercenaries is emerging younger and with no code of honour. For the last few months he has been battle worn and run down.

He’s been a long time at this, forty years next week. Forty years of killing, kidnapping and other dirty deeds. Over the years the fortune he amassed has faded, his acquaintances have faded to dust but the memories of all his deeds have remained. They exist like this dull glow just out of his vision that he can never see, but all the time giving off waves of regret and hatred. His last contract was to kipnap a local lords daughter. He knows this is a set up, the days for this type of kipnap and ransom are long past. Things are more “civilised” now, when ones honour is impeached upon the offended party simply kills the offending party. This involving of other family members is an antiquated method and one the the man in black has built a small fortune on it.

The sky clouds in and thunder booms in the distance, it seems like the saints are giving him an appropriate send off for his last contract. Some may ask how he knows that this contract is a set up. He knows it is because of the location, there is a reason why this region is known as the unexplored region. There is nothing beyond the small settlement village where the docks are.

The rain starts as the boat approaches the moorings, the fog descends from the mountains towards the village lights. The bellow of the captain interrupts his reflection on his life and past deeds. The game begins again possibly for the last time. He heads towards the village inn where the rules of the game will be laid out.

The inn has a roaring fire and a bard is playing some old melody that some of the locals are tentatively dancing to. There is an air of tension and apprehensiveness to the inn something has the village on edge they are waiting on something to happen. The contact is where he’s supposed to be in the back snug. Good she seems like a professional someone who has done this before. The contact gives him his instructions, they’re straight forward, there should be a castle or fort forty to fifty miles north west of the village. The daughter should be in there. Then the she drops a bombshell the father is the Man in Red.

Suddenly everything falls into place in the man in blacks head. That feeling of being pulled towards the village and this side of the world. That feeling that his story is reaching it’s climax. Of course it should have been so obvious to him. The man in red left the game a decade ago, ran out on an unfulfilled contract and double crossed the man in black. It was the man in blacks duty to either capture or kill the man in red. For the only time in his forty year long career the man in black had been bettered. The man in red defeated him in hand to hand combat. The code of honour that is lacking in the new breed compelled him to allow the man in red to escape.

The dawn turns the sky a fiery red and the last of the fog from the previous night is being burned away in the early morning sun. The man in black watches the women on their morning pilgrimmage to the well and the men as they start their day. One column meanders between the foot hills towards the fields and the other moves towards the docks and the fishing boats. He takes a breath and embarks on his journey towards the final confrontation and the conclusion of his story.

Published in: on January 22, 2009 at 7:47 pm Leave a Comment
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Eleventh Hour

The wind rustled through the trees as the storm passed through the empty city streets. The majortiy of the city dwellers had already sought the comfort and warmth of their beds. But not yet there was work to do, a final task to complete. On through the streets, everyone and everything looking the same. All the buildings, dark, grim souless apratment blocks. The few who ventured out whores and druggies mostly, but some just had no place to go, or they’d rather face the storm then what was waiting for them at home. 

She was different though, he was unique in this motley assortment of the dregs of humanity. She walked with a purpose, with dignity, there was somewhere she had to be, something she had to do. The people on the street sensed that as well they moved out her way. As if her purpose gave her an aura of protection and authority over these people. To the casual observer this could have been viewed as respect, but I recongised it for what it was……Fear. That aura of protection was in the way she moved, she didn’t walk. She glided, loped like a hunter stalking it’s prey. She moved like she had tamed violence and destruction and kept them in her pocket. 

In truth that was true, she was an assassin one of the best. She had killed more than five hundred people in her career. But tonight was her most important kill. Tonight she was not being paid, there was no clean up team to make sure that she could get away clean and move onto the next job. This was personal, the old adage goes “Hell Hath No Fury like a Woman Scorned”. They were right, a man caught cheating,  man about to lose more than his life.

This kill will be the easiest she won’t even use a gun. Her bare hands are enough, maybe a knife if she feels like making him feel some real pain. She enters the apartment through the living  room window, using the fire escape. He sees her and starts to run, she’s quicker and breaks his leg. I sit back to watch her go to work on the guy. After an hour the guy finally dies and I need to get started. “PUFF PUFF” . She never heard not saw the bullets coming, one took her in the left shoulder the second hit a second later and took her head off. 

Why? you might ask. Why did I kill her? The old adage is true about a woman scorned but that is nothing compared to a mans quest for revenge. That woman has killed over five hundred people, but the last three she killed were a mistake. The fourth she should have made sure he was dead.

Published in: on August 5, 2008 at 9:55 pm Leave a Comment
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The Jazzman

The Jazz man finishes his set, the keys smoke after his melody making. The crowd gives a standing ovation and the player stalks off stage. The smoke filled green room welcomes him back. In the green room the other players greet him. The blues man puts down his cigar and shuffles to the jazzman and the door. He congradulates the jazzman on his show and moves off to start his own set. 

The soul man eyes the jazzman suspiciously. Friends and rivals since they were there’s now a distance between the. One wronged the other years ago, so long ago neither remembers what happened, but their pride is too great to allow either to apologise. They exchange stiff and formal compliments about each others performances and then move off to join groups on either side of the room. Each regretful for a friendship lost.

The smoke that fills the room acts as a barrier. The bluesman comes back after having a set that literally brought the house down. He enters the room and the smoke dissipates. The presence of the blues man seem to relax the tension in the room. The 3 groups of musicians merge into one in the presence of the bluesman.

The party is getting started, the banter is flowing and they are settling down for what looks like an all night jam session, then the door opens and smoke pours into the room. The silhouettes in the doorway seem alien to the room full of sharp suits and slow melodies.

The silhouettes enter the room and they start a ruckus, hammering the 3 musical styles together. When the door opens again the world will never be the same again.

Out of the door comes a musical form never heard before,

Out of the room comes the musical juggernaut that is Rock Music

Published in: on July 29, 2008 at 10:06 pm Leave a Comment
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The Birth of Rock & Roll

The Jazz man finishes his set, the keys smoke after his melody making. The crowd gives a standing ovation and the player stalks off stage. The smoke filled green room welcomes him back. In the green room the other players greet him. The blues man puts down his cigar and shuffles to the jazzman and the door. He congratulates the jazzman on his show and moves off to start his own set. 

The soul man eyes the jazzman suspiciously. Friends and rivals since they were kids, there’s now a distance between them. One wronged the other years ago, so long ago neither remembers what happened, but their pride is too great to allow either to relent and apologise. They exchange stiff and formal compliments about each others performances and then move off to join groups on either side of the room. Each regretful for a friendship lost.

The smoke that fills the room acts as a barrier between the two groups. The bluesman comes back after blowing the roof off the venue. He enters the room and the smoke dissipates. The presence of the blues man seem to relax the tension in the room. The 3 groups of musicians merge into one in the presence of the bluesman. A new sound is being formed.

The party is getting started, the banter is flowing and they are settling down for what looks like an all night jam session, then the door opens and smoke pours into the room. The silhouettes in the doorway seem alien to the room full of sharp suits and slow melodies.

The silhouettes enter the room and tall hell breaks loose, hammering the 3 musical styles together. The results will shake the world for decades. The backstage door opens, smoke pours out. A small crowd of roadies and technicians has gathered around the smoking door. The silhouette in the doorway is tall, with hair that resembles a lions mane. The silhouette moves with an arrogance and swagger never seen before towards the stage door. The lights go down, the crowd grows silent,

Then the music starts like a clap of thunder, the stage lights come up like lightning and the crowd is awestruck. Never before have they heard anything like this. The building shakes and the crowd sways in time with the music. As the silhouette walks off stage, an awe struck technician asks

“Who are you?”

The silhouette responds

“You may thing I’m strange, but I ain’t never gonna change. I’m about to become millions of peoples religion and law. But no one will be able to kill me. I’m Rock & Roll and I’m here to stay”

Published in: on at 10:06 pm Leave a Comment
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Titleless

Pay no attention to the man in the corner. He’s old, a has been just waiting for death to take him. Earlier in his life though he was a great warrior, who wielded a mighty hammer. Some say that the only person who could match him in strength and skill with a hammer is Thor himself. The end of his fighting days came suddenly, one day he just simply could not lift his hammer. His pride was broken that day now he is a shadow of his former self. 

Ignore the man at the bar he’s a drunken holyman. He believes he’s on some holy quest from god to save the world. Says he must kill the one who came before him. He doesn’t know where that person is or what they look like but he must find and kill them. He will not be able to rest in peace till that person is in pieces. 

The man behind the bar is a storyteller. His favourite one to tell is the one of the dueling dragons. The two ancient serpents that were each others opposites yet completed each other. They gave the world balance in the early years before law and order existed. The story of how one killed the other in a moment of rage. The slain one simply accepted it as fate. The other went mad and was killed to preserve the world.

The man behind the piano is blind he lost his sight when he was a boy for getting mud on some lords boots. He sits there in and plays the piano. He is trapped behind the piano unable to move trying to compose his masterpiece, a piece of music that will elate and bring joy to people. Some say he can see the music moving up from the back of the piano, that he’s trying to assemble this piece by sight looking for the solution in the melody. 

The man at table dressed in black emits a aura of danger, that death follows him where he goes. He is a death dealer all he lives for in life is the continuation of order and balance in the world. He is not a naive idealist that believes that good will prevail. He recongises the necessity for evil and wrong doing in the world. He is unique in order to gain his attention you must either be completely evil or completely good.

The bar shutters swing open and a woman appears in the doorway, she looks troubled and travel weary. In a bar where everyone is so absorbed in their own thoughts no one notices when she falls down from exhaustion. Time passes and the barman notices and lifts her to a couch at the back of the bar. The woman never wakes. 

Time passes and memory fades the storyteller leaves for bed and asks the man at the bar and the man at the table to leave. Outside the men lock eyes and the holy man asks the man in black.

Are you the one who came before me? 

The man in black looks at the holyman for a while.

The next thing the holyman hears is the click of the hammer going back on the man in blacks gun.

Then The man in black answers the holy man,

No I’m the eternal one neither before or after, I just am

The gunshot rings out in the still night, the holy man falls to a silent death none will mourn or miss him, none will even notice that he has fallen.

The man in black turns and walks away, knowing balance has been restored.

Published in: on July 26, 2008 at 6:10 pm Leave a Comment
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