A Strange Pact

                                                             A Strange Pact (1)

In between the tracks of this uncertainty each of our breaths tapped the twisted and twined path of the degenerate pock-marked men, each in turn looking us up and down with a blank stream of disgust, the highs and the lows of every emotion alternating, pronouncing, and sympathising with a lust hitherto unknown in the eyes of the shapely  profiled  idiot caravan, I hated the summertime once upon a time, all the disasters in my life happened when the sun was shining, I dreaded the summer, relationships broke, friendships always ended, misery beamed down from the sun on solar rays, safer in the winter no one looking at you in the winter-a thousand year old image-a story inherited age by age, a life filled with more misery than happiness, perspective lines on a canvass a preparation for what ?dead images no longer mean anything, a creation for no one, a brush mark for the idiots became the phrase which I kept hearing, overbearing attitudes with no apparent motive, a confusion of the senses infiltrating the prospekts and bazaars of old time Moscow a livid plaintive reliance of nothingness. A seething member of the aristocracy lipidly reminding you of what you once possessed and although you know this anyway you nod along as though in awe and wonder at there wisdom when in fact your looking outwardly at reflections of your face in there eyes at the dumb idiot expression on your dribbling face: Without severely questioning it they accepted your explanation and you walk away with each and every eye burning scalding brand marks on your skull, and so a separation begins, of your honesty and your sanity, each parting and going there separate ways ,and if you turned around to look for a mirror or window you would swear that you could see them separating and disappearing from view, so totally convinced of this fact are you that you incur the possibility of capture and questioning because for that moment you absolutely have to see it happen and if you don’t you will expire from the sheer discomfort that’s happening on your scalp, but somehow the feeling passes and you keep walking, but you scratch the top of your head  just in case, just in case. I move slowly along the pavement in a desperate bid to evade my life. Realising suddenly, that I feel very first person narrative, an instantaneous sense of control, so long without feeling or true expression I can propound my own sense of idiocy, I walked towards to what seemed to be a bench, it’s shape was the same certainly, but when I moved towards it, it began to become blurry.hazy.ethereal, was I misinterpreting it?. Was I misinterpreting everything?

I singled out the broken glass, it was near the old woman’s foot who  seemed to be prolonging some kind of private agony, she was grasping a younger mans arm, her sons possibly, although he could also have been her lover,certainly a strange pact.  I walked over to them both, each of them becoming aware of my presence, and although my pretence at wanting to look at the glass was in some ways correct, I think mainly I just wanted to listen to there peculiar language, there reasons and they’re positional sense. She had an odd angular face, like a broken triangle where the points have failed to fuse into a correct angle, misshapen and mangled, at the distance of ten feet she stared at me and I stood still averting my eyes from her and staring at the broken bottle on the ground, when I glanced up again she looking distressed, and her partner, for wont of a better word, was now glaring at me, his face was an amalgam of disparate shapes and congealed meat, it seemed to have no discernable edges, a massive planet like structure which  grew independently  of his body,  attached, gently, to his neck, and I was fascinated by them both, I now stood stock still, next to a bench, the pretence of me looking at the glass on the floor now dispensed with, they new I was looking at them and for some reason I couldn’t identify they invited my scrutiny, they continued somewhat restrainedly , holding a private conversation which everyone could hear but chose not to, and I continued to stand there, as the rain started to beat down out of a clear blue sky, the sun burning holes in my clothes and for some reason I didn’t understand It was raining ridiculously hard onto us all, and I advanced closer to them, circling them like hunted animals, and now they’re words becoming clear, and then suddenly  I could hear nothing, they’re voices trailing off as the volume in there chords became light and silent, blossoms  in the path of a raging tornado……