the noise in my head roars as i walk towards the lights. i can feel more than hear the crunch of my boots on the gritty pavement, small grinding sensations that seem to ride up the back of my skull with each step. light pours into my eyes from passing echoes of cars; rusted hulks moving along the patchy road, some with only one door left, the occasional remaining panel clinging grimly to the decayed chassis. the skeletons behind the wheel grin maniacally at me as they pass; some wave a bony hello, an almost taunting gesture from the brittle demons.
still the noise in my head. the wind on my face makes a strange rushing sound that creeps along the base of my spine. it buffets me, pushing strangely through my clothes as though clawing at my life; alien fingers scraping over my very soul. a strange smell infuriates the air, hanging dully over everything; a smell like old furs in a closed room. stale, like everything in this strange world. brown, sepia tones dominate.
the lights are closer now. i hope for familiarity in their glow, but see none. instead of the gory fluorescent illumination of the 7-11, a strange misting flame covers the back wall; washing purple tendrils throwing strange light over everything inside. i pause, looking into the dusty window at the hunched figure behind the counter. it does not move, in fact if it were not sitting on a stool it would look nothing more from my point of view than a pile of filthy rags.
i walk toward the doors, eyeing the peeled height markers on the frame, running my gaze over the faded Coke promos and cracked plastic rectangle that would normally instruct me to pull. i wonder if the joints will be rusted, if the door will pull off in my hand. the burnt noise in my head is a dull ache, something that long since stopped any coherence. there are no reflections anywhere, light seeming to die as it hits the first object in its way; even glass is dull and matte. i pull on the handle.
instead of the death rattle grating i am expecting, the door swings open easily and silently. i pause on the threshold, wondering if it is safe to enter. i glance back to the road, at the pocked and decaying bitumen, the rusted engine blocks showing through the metal carrion skin of the vehicles grinding past. i step into the room, looking to the figure behind the counter. it shows its teeth, whether in welcome or menace i cannot tell. it looks like a horse's head under the tattered hood, but i dare not look further.
the room is untidy, packets spilling off shelves; one row of shelves has toppled on its side. i pick up a packet of chips, testing the packet to see if it is still airtight. i move on through the shop to the fridge, but it contains nothing. the cooling unit doesn't seem to be working, and the engine at the back of the dull red casing radiates heat at an alarming level, spitting sparks and adding its own racket to the roaring in my head. i look beyond it to the slurpee machine. amazingly, the arms in the round windows are moving; bright coloured liquid swirling behind them.
i step over debris from the toppled shelf, and stand in front of the humming machine. looking down, i see there are cups still sitting in the clear plastic holders. a large crack runs through the perspex, distorting the view of my hand as i select a large cup; i inspect it for dust and then place it under a slurpee nozzle. pulling the lever, i am surprised to see slurpee of perfect thick, cold consistency pouring into my cup. i fill it five inches above the rim, an almost perfect icy cone.
i immediately push my lips through the top of the cone, feeling the freezing cold bite of the slurpee on my tongue. the sudden touch of ice after the drying heat outside smashes life into my throat. holding the cup and the chips with one hand, i grab two straws and then move to the counter. the horse-headed figure stands up, becoming little more than an inch taller than when it was seated on the low stool. with my free hand i pull out my wallet and balance it on my other forearm to fumble out some change. i drop some coins onto the counter, and the dark figure shuffles them off the edge of the counter into its pocket with a cloth-covered appendage; after which it sits down again. i leave without comment.
the heat hits me in the brain as i step outside, the noise in my head like an uncontrolled mix of static and feedback. i walk again down the road, boots scratching over tiny pebbles. i pass several shops, windows cracked or broken, derelict furniture inside attended by strange figures; if at all. i come to an unattended music shop, silent speakers hanging over the footpath. the windows are intact and small blinking lights peer out from sound equipment at the back of the room. i step inside, locking the door behind me. a skeleton stops its rusted beast of burden and stands outside, watching me with the dark holes in its dingy skull.
the air in the shop is cool; breathable. the noise is gone, and the silence threatens to split my head open. my feet make slight clicking noises on the polished wood floor. i wander past the racks, picking up CDs with my free hand. i move around the end of the counter to where the sound equipment winks at me. after a sip of the slurpee, i pick up a CD and place it in the tray of the player. the tray winds into the black-metal finished box with an electric buzz, then there is a slight flicking noise as the disc begins to spin.
music washes out of hidden speakers and floods the room. outside, the external speakers broadcast the notes through the hot air. sweet tones push through the dryness, sweeping away the creaks and groans of the passing skeletons and the crackle of dry leaves blowing in the hot breeze. stillness descends. the skeleton outside stares intently as the music wraps the night outside. i sit behind the counter with my feet up, opening the chips; the muscles in my body unwinding.
colour. the ground imperceptibly changing to darker browns, streetsigns returning to familiar green, night sky deepening to clear midnight black. white objects emerge from dusty grey, sepia turning to brilliant colour. light reflects from smooth surfaces. the night begins to cool to a pleasant temperature, and the slurpee doesn't seem so shockingly cold anymore. the music builds.
an ambient beat drops from the speakers, washing out over the world. the hulks speeding past on the road cease to be covered in rust, their drivers are composed of clean white bones. i move to the door, looking out through clean glass as a full moon begins to rise. the skeletons begin to blur, as though a second form is hovering around their bodies. the cars have an increasing number of panels, the bitumen seems less broken and concrete gutters less cracked.
the music reaches full strength, coaxing the moon up above the horizon, almost clear of its touch, climbing into the sky. normal sounds return to the night. the passing cars are complete, their drivers fully fleshed. stars begin to glint at the edge of darkness. i look out at the lone skeleton, to see beautiful eyes gazing back.
heretic
(10-11-96)