Drunken Angel

A short about a man who has lost his way.

   The smelly pimp had brought me to the room. The whole motel was his little grotto of illegal commercial sin.

   Today I lost the last of my vestiges, I lost my pride, my guilt. I embrace what I am. The motel room was small, a double bed with a thin mattress, a lamp that came from the worst taste of the 60s. The pimp had said Wait here, she be here soon. He smiled.

   I sat down on the bed with the pimp watching me, picked up the magazine that lay there on the thin blankets of the cheap bed. Three month old mag of vanity fair. The women on the front were dress in long silky evening gowns, and the inside was just as empty. The pimp looked cheesy there at the door, like a second car sales man, but something made me feel that he was more then his pretence, his face was sinister and long, skin pulled tight over his bonny, skull.

“Ah here’s my Queen. You’ll like her, she be worth what you paid me, and mister, ever feel in the mood again-” he paused, as if for dramatic effect that really did fall short of any impact ” well you know where to find me.”

   I didn’t look up as she entered, but I heard the nearly inaudible sound of pvc creaking. I just looked forward. She didn’t speak- The pimp had said “she’ll know what to do, wont have to worry about anything” as if that was a desired quality of used car that he was selling. “So, what do we do?” I asked. I heard her moving again, and she moved to the front of the bed, with her back facing me. I looked up, and I watched as she undressed in front of me, without her saying anything. Her skin was supple, soft looking. But too ugly scars ran along side her shoulder blades, like horrible blemishes, but they didn’t detracted from her beauty. “Your name is Michael isn’t it?” She asked, her voice was gentle nearly singing in it’s timbre. “Yes, the pimp told you.”

   She had black hair that looked like a wig, running down her naked back. She sat in front of me wearing only those gloves that reached up to the elbow. “Your in a lot of pain,” she said. I was suddenly perplexed. Pain? “Emm, I’m not into anything kinky or something like that…” She turned her face to me smiling, and her face was gentle soft beautiful, the thick layer of makeup only seem to heighten this beauty. But then the smile turned to a frown and she stood and turned completely to me. I was excited- A brief thought that decency had finally left me- then I willed myself over to the thoughts of her perfect flesh.

“This is not you Michael”, she said as she walked towards the edge of the bed. “What is?” I asked but it was only to humour her. “You wish to die.” I felt puzzled again, the excitement slightly dissipated- “whatever… ” I answered.

“Close your eyes…”. I did as she told me. I heard her get close to me, her fingers touching my face-Then … I saw… fire, great billowing flames consuming everything, thousands apon thousands of people burning and screaming- and theses people all had wings, long glorious white feathered things, some of them that climbed out of the flames onto islands of lava, were black and scorned but there wings had to turned to black leather bat wings- all this in a second and I open my eyes- and her face was right in front of mine, her fingers gently cascading down my face… “Shss Michael- close your eyes..”

“I saw…”

“Shss Michael.” I closed them again. And I felt her fingers touching my mouth and then I saw… A gravestone, cold and stone, I could make out the engraving- “Michael.. ” I heard her say, “Michael?” and I released that what it said, Michael, Dead and no-one cares.

   I opened my eyes and she wasn’t there, gone. Her clothes; her trace of perfume all gone. I ran out of the room looking around, looking for the pimp, but I couldn’t find him either- and the owners never heard of the guy. All gone, disappeared, disappeared, all gone.

   That night I went home, and I cried under my bed sheets, fire burning a cold grave… scars on her back, like her wings had been ripped off her body…

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