Sated With Sin

I balled my fist loosely as with turn of wrist I rapped my knuckles against the first wooden door exploring fingers traced from the foot of the stairs. This was not the first visit I had made. From within the pounding of bass and rhythmic drum beat resonated unrelenting though louder of course than it had been from upstairs, significantly so. Against the backdrop of electro-vibe I heard movement from within, a voice muttering something incomprehensible as the sound of latch was drawn, door’s creaking swallowed up by the instrumental noise as it swung back revealing a gangly shaped swirl of acid coloured mist. “What? What d’yer want blindman? Gonna tell me to turn it down? Well fuck you” sounded a slurred standoffish voice, his liquor tainted scent seeped upwards to tickle at my nostrils

Sliding one palm along the door frame I leaned forward, even without sight of his wasted flesh I knew I towered over him, casting my shadow backwards into the dimly lit room that was hazy from the lingering weed smoke. I felt flecks of his spittle dampen against my chin from his unprovoked retort. It did little to settle my mood.

“Your…” I sought for a word “…music gives me a headache” I sighed, my temper rearing its head from within and beginning to stir. Behind blindfold my aching eyes pierced within him for first traces of sin I could recognise. Gluttony and sloth sparkled in clouds that rose off him like fumes yet I itched to taste wrath, willed to taste how I felt. Sliding my boot forward I wedged it against the door, preventing it from being slammed in my face. “This is the one and only time I shall ask nicely…turn it down” I stated, my tone cool and assertive though masked well the bubbling explosion simmering beneath the surface. I cared nothing for the music, was all a lure, enticing the inevitable. Wasters like this one did not like to be dictated to.

“And I said, fuck you” came the response, voice betraying a smirking arrogance likely painted upon sneering lips. I pictured a cigarette dangling there as he spoke and sure enough such was confirmed as a coil of stale smelling smoke was blown up into my face, likely an intended parting spite as he attempted to wedge the door closed and return triumphantly to his pit. A grumble of annoyance sounded from the man’s throat as I pressed forward, forcing failure of his attempt to have the last word. “Look man, ain’t no one else complains now get your foot out the damned door before I call the dog” he threatened recognised the first seed of concern in his voice. It was not fear or anger, not yet, but it pulled at my pulse, driving its tempo.

“You don’t have a dog” I replied matter-of-factly, my own lips twisting into a rather sly knowing grin “At least, not anymore” I chuckled, its sound echoing about the man like an unseen lasso. 

It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. One moment he was pressing his weight with laboured breaths unsuccessfully against my boot, then the next he sprang back allowing me to press forward with long strides, my body moving into the darkness of his abode, forcing him to retreat backwards. “What?” he snapped then paused. “How the hell do you know that?” I allowed the wheels of his mind to turn, it could take a while with mortals, especially those intoxicated and close to brain rot. I slowly nodded my head, same almost smug grin in place. I’d found my rest in the rooms above him for months now, long enough to know that his canine friend was important to him. Funny how mortals kept such accord with animals, treating their pets usually far better than their fellow man.

“You took my dog?!” the surprise in his question was almost endearing. For like so many he took the blindfold as a sign of weakness. I was known locally, recognised, hard not to be when I somewhat stuck out from the crowd despite the way I could blend in when I chose. It made people assume that frailty and timidity went hand in hand with the loss of a major sense as if lacking brought an easy succumbing to intimidation. Yet I was a hard one to intimidate. “Why? Where? How the fuck…fuck, you bastard, where is he…what you do to my dog you fucking asshole!” he rambled, stepping back toward my approach as his caution and surprise gave way to indignant outrage. The wrathful energy permeated the smoky air, enough so I could taste it just by touching my tongue against my lips, licking at the thin sheen coated there. “You shall soon see” I assured in low whisper delighting in my own truth and simple fortune in the creatures absence. Why lie when honesty was a far more rewarding elusiveness compared to the deceit I was incapable of regardless? I’d done nothing to his dog either.

I saw it coming. Neither in the unseen expression upon his furious brow nor in the step he took back to allow for better propulsion forward. And nor was it the fates that foretold through some aptly timed vision. It was simply in the sound of his breath drawing angrily through gritted teeth and the vibrant flash of fierce crimson that sparked all about him. He launched, fists bunched in a sloppily aimed uppercut that never made contact. Ironically he with the perfect eyesight would never have seen what was coming. I’m sure never even in his darkest sweat drenched nightmares had he imagined such a consequence. I’d leave him little time to dwell afterward and yet he’d be left intact, more or less.

~

I left him slumped in his chair with bottle in hand, smoke coiling in a spiral upwards, likely similar to his stance before my knuckles had rapped forebodingly upon his door as his wayward dog explored muzzle deep in the spilled trash outside upon the darkened street. I on the other hand ascended the stairs feeling more sated and satisfied than I had in weeks.

As I let my own door swing shut behind me with no need for locking I was aware I now had more expected company. The radiating warmth from the fireplace bathed my still vibrating skin. With a ruffling of papers and bags close by I returned to my chair and sunk down, imagining the same scenario below. “Have you eaten?” she asked, her voice tired yet concerned as soft footsteps brought her closer to my side, hovering uncertainly just out of arms reach. After a brief moment I could almost read the very curl of her lips in mirror to my own. There was no need for verbal answer. 

© Rachel Ellen, 2011