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⛥♠⛥
Speaking of which. He drew a deep breath of the air in the corridor. The Rasta neighbours were obviously home, a fact reinforced by Bob Marley asking whether he would help to sing these songs of freedom. He grinned with his blackened teeth. Redemption Song. A fitting soundtrack.
She avoided the communal bathroom across the hallway whenever possible, preferring to grab a quick shower at work when they weren’t too busy. Although, she had to admit, the Rastas next door did a decent job of making sure that everyone on the floor kept it reasonably clean. It had been a while since she’d seen a discarded needle in the bathtub. The relentless bass beat pounding day and night through the paper-thin walls was a small price to pay.
What was it like? It was a colossal cluster f#ck the likes of which nobody had ever seen before. Or since. Hundreds of innocent civilians, men, women and children, desperately trying to find food and clothing after they’d been told not to stockpile. Then the strikes hit, fanned by greedy union leaders and unscrupulous politicians, and the supply chains ran dry. People had nothing.
Noddy started down the stairs from the rooftop. They had to leave. Today. He would convince her of that. Fuck the money. They could survive without it. He would start wearing shirts with collars. And sleeves, if that’s what it took to find a job at the coast. He would even cut his hair. If that didn’t convince her of his sincerity, his desperation, then nothing would.
Once upon a time, in a beautiful land far far away, Simple Simon met a pieman going to the parliamentary buildings. Said Simple Simon to the pieman, “I’ll need seven hundred and sixty nine, eight hundred and seven hundred - listen properly - seven hundred and sixty nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty, and seventy, pies to feed my wives and extended family.”
Mick shrugged, raised his eyes to the sky. A lonely cloud drifted slowly across the lower half of the brutal African sun. “It’s getting dark, brother. Ah can feel the Valkyries coming for me. Not long to go, now.” Dirk slammed the car door. “For fuck’s sake…” Mick stopped him with a glance. “Enough. Ah know what Ah’m doing. Just make sure ye’re here when Ah get back, or only one of us is going back to the club.” Dirk stood quietly and watched him walk around the corner before he realized that Mick’s threat didn’t even make sense.
“Ah know why she did it. Something inside me broke a long time ago. Ah know that now. She saw it then. And she accepted me the way Ah was. But, Dirk, it broke again when Ah was inside. And it snapped completely, in that alley behind mah flat, when Ah saw her again yesterday. Ah lost it, man. Ah fucking lost it.”
A familiar shape swooped in to land on the bottle. “Where have you been, cheeky bird?” Spike responded with a series of squawks, explaining exactly where he’d been and what he’d been doing for the last few hours. Or maybe it was hunger. “Hang on a minute. Yip, here we go.” Noddy found a tiny scrap of his breakfast bacon wrapped in a torn piece of serviette and tucked away in his jacket pocket. His companion squawked and fluttered his wings, hopping off the bottle onto Noddy’s hand to accept the offering.
“Ah resigned mahself to dying years ago. But things can happen to a man when his freedom’s taken away. When he’s isolated. Cut off from his mates. Locked in a cage with other wild animals.” Dirk found his eyes drawn to watch the bird hop and fly in the street, catching bugs without a care in the world. No fear. No limits to its movements. Then it was gone, shooting straight up into the air with a graceful swoop of its wings. “All that’s left, at the end of the day, are the stories told of a man’s life after he’s gone. How he’s remembered. If he’s remembered at all.”
“Ah woke up this morning with bits of mah brain leaking out mah ears, man. Mah life flashed before mah eyes, so it did. And it wasn’t pretty. Ah’ve done some bad things, Dirk. And Ah paid for them in prison. So help me, Ah paid.” He opened his eyes and looked sideways at his best friend. “Then yesterday…” He stopped and looked away. “But it’s over now. Ah’m ready for the Valkyries to carry me home.”