They live In the shadows

I have no idea what I was trying to achieve when I wrote the following, but I kinda like it in a sick sort of way…

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He drop-kicked his empty cider can off a wall. Not satisfied with the damage done, he proceeded to squash the can with a Doc Martin. Still unsatisfied, he gave the can a good hard kick and sent it spinning over the edge of the pier. He watched as it sank, catching the three-quarter moonlight as it did so.

Jimmy O’Leary – One; Corporate Scumbags - Nil, he thought.

He peered over the pier’s edge, wobbling alarmingly as he did so.

“Fuck you looking at?” he asked of his rippled reflection, then laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Fuckin eejit.”

He unzipped himself and pissed into the sea, marvelling at the sparkling splash below. Champagne Madame, he thought, and laughed again. For a moment the water surrounding his urine’s entry point seemed to turn blue, though this was a trick of the moonlight. He was actually pissing blood, but was too drunk to notice or to care. A blow to the groin earlier in the evening was to blame. Madame’s blow.

He was careless enough to forget about zipping himself back up, but force of habit at least ensured he deposited his manhood back inside his underpants. He had his dignity after all, goddammit; then he belched loudly. It echoed up the hill behind the pier. A dog barked. Jimmy howled at the moon. The dog did not howl back, but continued barking.

“Had one too many friend?” a stranger asked.

Jimmy turned, his head lagging behind the rest of his body. He eyed up the stranger, though it took a few seconds to focus his eyes. The stranger was not facing him.

“What if I’ve had?” he asked.

“It’s nothin to me friend. Nothin at all. Just makin conversation is all,” The stranger replied.

Jimmy grunted in reply and turned back towards the sea. For a while they stood silently observing the water lapping against moored boats in the estuary. A small yacht motored by and the skipper waved in their direction. Jimmy did not acknowledge. The stranger did.

A little while later, perhaps sobered by the salty air, Jimmy turned to face the stranger. It didn’t take so long now to focus on the stranger’s profile. He was tall, face masked by the shadow of a hood, hands in pockets of his hoody.

Still facing towards the sea, the stranger spoke with authority. “Listen now and listen good, friend. If you lack the simple manners to acknowledge the salute of a fellow seafarer, then I don’t think I want much to do with you.”

The stranger continued staring out at the waves, now gathering magnitude with the stiffening breeze. Jimmy, a little stunned, composed himself and replied, “What’s eatin your dick off?”

“What’s eatin it off? I’ll tell you what’s eatin it off. Dick’s like you pissin on Mother Nature; kickin cans into the sea – you dumb fuck.”

He didn’t know what struck him more – the fiercely hurled insults, or the fact the stranger had stopped calling him friend.

“Look man, I ain’t done nothin to you and I don’t want no quarrel with you,” said Jimmy.

He was a little nervous now. The faceless stranger was an imposing figure and his motionlessness was uneasing. The strengthening breeze, perhaps force six now, did nothing to the stranger other than buffet his hood a little.

“Mother Nature’s wonders. Such wonders,” The stranger muttered under his breath.

“Look stranger, I want no quarrel. You hearin me?”

Jimmy began to back away from the pier’s edge. The stranger did not move. He turned and bolted for his car. Still the stranger did not move. Beep, beep. Car remotely unlocked. Jimmy opened the driver door, slid into the seat and shut the door. Car locked. Sanctuary.

His Golf had never let him down to this point and it started instantly. Determined to escape from what he thought might be someone lacking a modicum of sanity, he backed away from the wall he was facing. A loud thud stalled his progress. He exited the vehicle to inspect the damage. Had he hit a bollard?

Sprawled on the ground behind the car was the stranger. Unhooded now, face painted by the moon’s reflection, the stranger was no longer so imposing. His eyes were open wide, though his stare was blank. The pool of blood under his skull sold the deal. The weirdo was dead.

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