Magenta Monster

The night was damp, not raining but a haze lit by the amber street lamps making everything glow a sickly yellow whilst moisture penetrated through layers of clothing giving that chill dankness.  Amelia stood at the bus stop a ladder in her tights and lipstick smeared, mascara rims were growing around her smudged eyeshadow, it had been fushia, now it was a a muddy colour on a waxen washed out face.  She was tired the club had been a mistake.  Her lungs felt like bursting from dry ice, in bed it would be a rock on her chest and she hadn’t got a clue were her inhaler was.

A bus cast in cordial orange where red should have gleamed, pulled in with a hydrolic hiss, she staggered on board bouncing her oyster card on the yellow circle.  She didn’t even make eye contact with the driver hidden behind thug proof shielding.  She slumped on the nearest apparently gum free chair, huddled inside her thin coat.  The window was scratched with gang sign, the floor sticky in its glittering grit.

The hum of the bus lulled her into a stupor deepened only slightly by the mix of fancy fruit beers and vodka.  The later she had supplied herself in the old guise of an evian bottle.

‘Amelia?’

She crained her neck slowly around such liquid tones she had not heard for what seemed an eternity, Jose was there silver in her hair, chapped pink lips, wonky glasses.  Amelia took in the ink stained finger and paint splatter clothing, a frown creased her forehead.

‘Jose?’ the woman nodded and smiled, it lit up her face, she became an angel – cracked lip, broken glasses and all.  As it had always been.

‘We’ve been wondering were you’d got too!’ she chirped, a look of disgust contorted the womans features, ‘you’ve fallen off the wagon haven’t you?’ she demanded harshly – it was as it always had been, somehow at odds with her general demeaner as if it had been learnt.

Amelia bristled to hear it, ‘no!’ then she blushed, she remembered the young man in the bar the one who had offered to buy her drinks.

‘Don’t lie I can smell it on you from here!’ Jose looked livid.

‘What’s it to you anyway,’ she hissed.

Jose got up from her seat and glided to the one next to Amelia, leaning down so that all the world become just Jose and whispered, ‘You know the answer to that one don’t come the fool! Were have you been we assumed you were with another group.’

‘Hah! How many groups do you think there are Jose!’ she spat then regretted it, the vitality of the other woman seemed to sag.

‘I… I had hoped?’ the eager hope, the fear in her eyes hurt Amelia as she shook her head.

‘How many are left Jose?’ she asked far more soberly than should have been possible.

‘Just the three of us,’ she said quietly.

‘But…’ Amelia shuddered at the thought, ‘there was 120 of us! How many are awol like me?’

‘Not many and we think… it doesn’t matter, were are you living? We could have a cuppa – you don’t have to be part of the group but we would like to see you again.’ The urning in the older woman’s eyes burnt into her.

‘I… I don’t think I should Jose.’ She turned her face away not to see the other crumple but instead a fierce grip dug into her arm.

‘Amelia, you have to understand, you have to know!’

‘Let go!’ she said prizing the other woman’s fingers off of her – what was the woman thinking.

‘You have to listen!’ she pleaded.

‘No Jose I don’t I am well shot of you lot, we can never go back, we are stuck here and that is that, we should just get on with blending in, the sooner you lot come to terms with that the better.’ Her venhem ebbed away to a hiss.

Jose slumped back on another chair, ‘and how is trying to fit in working for you?’

Amelia shrugged, she was not about to admit that it wasn’t, she was lonely and sick but she wasn’t going back. Not that there was much to go back to by the sounds of it.

She snugged down in her coat and pointedly ignored Jose who stared penetratingly at her, it itched.

At her stop Amelia stood a bit shakily, Jose grabbed her wrist, ‘please reconsider, it’s not safe for our kind here anymore!’

She snorted, ‘and who’s going to know as long as I dress and talk like everybody else? Jose you need to think about yourself more, look at you! Go on holiday on your own or something.’

She ripped her hand out of the others and staggered off the bus. Her heels clicked on wet pavements sounding too loud, the panicked furore in Jose’s eyes had spooked her. Twisting her key in the lock she felt the unease of panic turn her stomach, she had to wiggle the key and pull the door, finally the little click ment she was in.

The air smelt wrong in her flat, dry ice always messed with her senses. She bunged the kettle onto her hob and went to the cupboard, a sharp grinding sound made her jump, metal on stone. She turned around and almost screamed. Talons clasped her throat holding her off of the floor, a snout dripping mucus snorted at her.

‘Little angel run, Little angel hide, Little angle going to hell for a ride!’ the apparition wheezed through slits of teeth. Amelia flailed and kicked at the Beast but knew it was no good, this had been what Jose feared then. She choked and dragged ragged breaths, painful and not enough. A jolt shot through the monster sending her sprawling, dazed she looked up to see Jose pummelling the creature. It ceased moving.

‘I think I’d like to rejoin the Fallen Angels Self Help Group’ she said horsely.

Posted: Thursday, June 23rd, 2011 @ 11:43 pm
Categories: Flash Fiction, Uncategorized.
Subscribe to the comments feed if you like. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.