We’ve all had those nights where drunken sex with a witch in a blood pentagram under a full moon on the roof of your favourite Johannesburg nightclub summons a hard-drinking demon who changes the fate of the human race forever. Right? No? Just me, then? ⛥♠⛥ Follow this page for decadent twisted tales of mystery, … Continue reading ⛥♠⛥Welcome⛥♠⛥
Morag used the cushioned heel of her black Doc Martens to crush the dying embers of the cancer-stick. She couldn’t believe she had started again. Nearly a year without so much as a drunken drag of someone else’s. Now she had a pack of nineteen Pall Mall Red in her pocket. All the old excuses ran through her head. They would calm her nerves. Help her think. Make her look grown-up and sophisticated. She snorted, kicking the stompie towards the plastic dustbins that were her only companions in this alley running between two blocks of flats. How’s that for sophisticated? Still, it’s not as if she had to worry about decreasing her life span. Not now. So why not light the odd cigarette?
Dirk shook his head. “No. Well, maybe that’s part of it. But it was there before he came off the bike, make out?” His expression darkened, brows lowering as he struggled to find the right words to express himself. “It’s like he’s not there anymore. Not in control. Like someone took a wild animal and caged it inside his skull. I can see it there behind his eyes, pacing back and forth. It’s hurt. Scared and confused. Ready to lash out at anyone who gets too close to it.”
Noddy turned to look deep into Janine’s icy blue eyes. “Girlfriend…” The second slap was more effective, nearly knocking him off his barstool. “How could you? What were you thinking?” They were both too stunned to answer. “You’re lucky Dirk didn’t call the police. You’re lucky you weren’t shot. How could you?” Noddy slid off the barstool, partly to move closer to Janine but mainly to brace himself in case she wasn’t finished yet. “We’re okay, Girlfriend. It’s alright. But how are you doing? Are you sick?” Janine gave him the look she reserved for TV evangelists caught in flagrante delicto.
Morag’s vodka completed its interrupted journey. “Oh, I’m sorry. But from where I stood, you had a fucking cannon pointed at your face and a pissed-off drug dealer about to blow your head all over the drum kit. A little gratitude would go a long way right about now.”
Dirk was careful to take the pool cue from Morag’s trembling hands before turning his back on her. Even then, he first took a few steps around the circle of music-lovers who were gradually losing interest in anything except the band. Dirk had known Morag a long time.
The answer came in a circle of screaming denim and leather, straight from a B-grade horror movie. Except Morag was no vulnerable scream queen, knocking the monster down and running away. She swung the pool cue repeatedly, laying into the body that wasn’t even curled in a defensive foetal position. People nearby screamed encouragement or discouragement, according to their individual stress levels.
Being well-versed in the multitudinous varieties and technicalities of arms and ammunition, Noddy recognized it instantly as a Big Gun. The kind that makes things explode, as opposed to the kind that just drills a neat hole through them. Chrome-plated. Red grip on the handle. And this identification wasn’t at all easy to make, as the thing was shaking up and down, back and forth, and quite obviously wasn’t at all happy to be there.
Join me in Edenvale from 10am on Saturday at the annual Our Place SPCA Fundraiser.
Potjie competition. Plates of potjie going for R60.00/plate with all proceeds to Edenvale SPCA.
Entrance fee on the day is pet food/blankets/toys.
Awards for best potjie and cutest pooch.
Raffles and loads of random prizes.
And my books will be available. A percentage of the profits goes to the SPCA.
Event details - http://www.facebook.com/BurningRosesNovel/events
Dirk swore and swerved to avoid a delivery truck as he exited the alley. These streets were dangerous. You had to keep your wits about you. If you let your guard down, even for a moment, you could soon be very dead.
The club receded on all sides, everyone on the dancefloor vanishing from his sphere of consciousness. There were only two people left in the world, as time slowed and blood pounded in his ears. He could feel each heartbeat, distinct and separate, blotting out all other sounds. Even the band. What was this oke even doing here, in a place like Valhalla, with his dayglo beach-wear and his ridiculous top hat? It wasn’t right.