Adam's Mad Ramblings

BLOOD RAIN

I hated the rain.
I hadn’t always felt this way.
I vividly remember the day that I did.
It was August 23rd 2008 when everything changed.

If I hadn’t been so angry I might have been incredulous that the man was surprised. I had been sat at a table near the bar with one eye on the door while I waited for my friend Stella to arrive. That evening the two of us had planned to meet here for a couple of drinks before moving on to a nightclub just down the road. Consequently I had gone out that morning and bought myself a new red silk dress I had seen earlier that week when using the shopping centre as a shortcut to work.

He’d walked over and asked if I wanted to dance. If Stella hadn’t once again kept me waiting I would probably have declined his offer with a smile and the false promise to catch him later. As it was I had grown bored of sitting by myself. In any case I didn’t see the harm, as the pub was less than a mile from my flat, while I wasn’t exactly one of the regulars, I was confident that if anything untoward happened someone who knew me would step in to help.

As was the usual theme Friday night a corner of the pub was set aside for live bands and Bad Wolf, as they had chosen to name themselves, were performing a cover version of the Aerosmith song Crazy which as it happened was one of my personal favourites.
“My name’s Barry, what’s yours?” he leaned in and asked.
“Emma,” I said.
He leaned back and smiled at me, I just began to return his smile when I felt his hand slide what to me was an inch too far down the back of my dress.
“Don’t do that” I said.

He didn’t stop smiling as his hand continued sliding down my dress, and I felt his hand just begin to lift it up and touch my leg underneath. Taking a half step back I clenched my fist and lashed out, connecting sharply with the soft part of his nose and looking on with no small measure of satisfaction as the blood began to flow.
“Do I look like some cheap tart to you?” I said.

Without bothering to wait for a reply I paused just long enough to grab my handbag and leave the pub, fully intending to make my way to the nightclub and arrange for Stella to meet me there instead. I hadn’t realised it had begun to rain outside and it didn’t take more than a few seconds before my dress began to press into me like a second skin.
“Don’t be stupid Emma, come back inside,” a voice I recognised as belonging to Martin, one of the bar staff, shouted after me.

Realising he was probably right I began to turn round even as I heard the sound of running footsteps from behind me. A moment later the handbag I had been carrying across my right shoulder was torn free by an unseen hand, the owner of whom entered into sight as he carried on running down the street away from me.

On a different day I probably would have contented myself by turning the air blue in the direction of his departing back before going home and cancelling all my credit cards but I was still angry over what had just transpired back in the pub. Kicking off my high heeled shoes so I could run properly it was, I would come to suppose, likely that adrenaline played a part in me ignoring the sensation of my bare feet crashing against the wet pavement and through puddles as I tried to eat into the initial head start he had.

Roughly seventy yards down the street he looked back at me over his shoulder before cutting left into the local park. It couldn’t have been any more than five seconds later before I followed him in. He must have fallen over on the wet grass because he was seemingly waiting for me with a line of mud plastered on his trousers as we faced each other at a point just out of sight of the street. I had been so intent on trying to catch up with him and retrieve my handbag that the thought had never occurred to me he might be carrying a weapon such as the knife which he now held in his right hand.

He was breathing hard from the running he’d just been doing, and even through the rain I could see his face was flushed with anger. In a curious turn around I felt my feet rooted to the spot as he walked in my direction, the rain almost seeming to dance from the blade of the knife as he lifted it toward my face.

In the days which were to follow my family and a large number of my friends were to visit this park and lay floral tributes at the place where I was to be found.

I hated the rain.
I hadn’t always felt this way.
I vividly remember the day that I did.
It was August 23rd 2008 when everything changed.
That was the day I died.

Hello Everyone.
This is my first attempt in about 25 years at writing poetry so no laughing.

MOONLIGHT DANCER

Under the dark cloudless sky
By the light of a crescent moon
The Moonlight Dancer dances
Dances a dance of steel and fire

He didn't know where they came from
He didn't ask them their names
All he knew was the steel of their weapons
An Assassin's Masquerade

As graceful as the shadows he leapt and span
A master in the art of death
Neither he or his twin blades showing mercy
The dance he wrought bringing an end to dreams

When the dance was over the silence reigned
The smell of death now fresh in the air
The Moonlight Dancer shall forever remember their faces
The blessing of his dance ever adding to his curse

they are really nice. And the poem is great.

Lady Draconian wrote:

they are really nice. And the poem is great.

Thank you.
That poem took me about 40 hours to write, god knows why...

BITTER EROSION

Even after their time together had, at least as far as Chrissie was concerned, more than run its course she could still remember when he used to smile at her as he asked “Mine?” to which she would always smile in turn as she answered “Forever”.

It had been at the party of a mutual friend where they had first met, one at which he had seemingly been the life and soul. Chrissie had watched from nearby with a barely suppressed grin as he kept a small crowd of people almost entranced with a story which made them all roar with laughter as he finished it with a double entendre. By chance alone he had glanced in her direction and noticed her watching, it had surprised her when he had excused himself and made his way over to her.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he’d said “My name’s Derek, what’s yours?”

“Chrissie,” she’d replied, glancing over his shoulder and taking note of the eyes upon them both as she did so, “Looks like your friends are missing you already,” she’d observed.

He’d leaned in close then so she could still hear him when he lowered his voice. “They’re not really my friends,” he’d said, “In fact I’m in need of rescue, is there any chance of you being my hero?”

For the second time in as many minutes Chrissie experienced surprise, this time at herself, as she took a virtual stranger by the hand and led him through the nearby French windows and out onto the patio, the two of them sharing the type of grin which might have suggested to a casual observer that they were a pair of misbehaving children.

“Thanks,” Derek had said once they’d both rounded the corner of the building “Now what can I do to repay you?”

It had been several hours later and the sun had long since gone down when the two of them finally finished talking.

“Well I must be getting home,” she’d said finally.

“Can I have your phone number before you go?” he’d asked as she rose from her seat.

Retrieving a pen from her handbag she’d scribbled it down on the back of his outstretched hand. The following day he’d called her and they’d arranged to meet that afternoon for a coffee at Costa’s in the town centre. Less than three months later it was with a suitcase containing all her worldly goods in her hand that she found herself walking into his flat.

“Will you be mine?” he’d asked even as she set the suitcase down on the floor.

“Forever,” she’d said with a smile.

It had been a long time since they made their promise to each other and this was what hurt Chrissie the most as she stared down at his sleeping form. A stain from the vodka he had fallen asleep drinking had seeped into the mattress of the bed; the bottle itself had rolled from his hand and down to the floor before being immersing itself in a small puddle.

This was not the first time she had come home from work to find him in such a state. Ever since he had lost his job he’d changed from the man she had fallen in love with, rarely even bothering to get out of bed he had taken to squandering his unemployment benefit on alcohol. The last time he’d drunk himself unconscious she’d stuck around to make sure he was alright but would have walked out there and then had he not dropped to his knees in front of her and begged her not to leave.

The tears which began in her eyes and rolled down her face tasted bitter as she quietly removed her suitcase from the wardrobe and packed up all her worldly goods before walking out to the street. The sun shone brightly on her face as she continued to walk without looking back, she wished it could have been forever.

Haven't posted a "mad rambling" in a good long while so here's this :

THE CRYPT

Kayleigh was pissed off, there was less than two hours to go before the stroke of midnight and she hadn’t received so much as a birthday card from any of her friends. Pausing for a moment at the entrance to the churchyard which she regularly used as a shortcut on her way home, she glanced upward. The last vestige of the sun was barely visible on the horizon, the rays of which appeared to cover the sky like a red blanket.

Kayleigh had of course seen the crypt before, older than the church itself someone had even today clearly gone to considerable lengths to keep it restored, if she was to hazard a guess the descendants of those buried inside were still rich enough and still cared enough to keep it this way. Traversing her way through the network of graves Kayleigh walked over to the crypt. The outer design was of Tudor architecture unless she was very much mistaken; history had always fascinated her, ever since a very young age she would set aside the comic books that her peers read and instead pour over history books, paying particular attention to the pictures of old building contained within. As she had done countless times before Kayleigh approached the crypt and silently marvelled at the skilled workmanship. Tracing a finger along the marble which had been artificially darkened in the manner of the gothic style of the Tudors she could see the hard work that gone into carving religious imagery into the stone, all of which lay in the shadow of a statue of Saint Christopher on the top of the crypt. Measuring approximately half a metre high the statue depicted the saint carrying a staff and staring out across the horizon, looking every bit the patron saint of travellers.

Traversing the crypt round to the entrance Kayleigh didn’t see it straight away, once she did she needed a double-take to focus her attention it. The crypt door had been opened, drag marks on the earth in front of the crypt telling the story that this hadn’t occurred in decades, perhaps even centuries. The fading light didn’t penetrate more than a few inches into the crypt and Kayleigh squinted, she could just about make out a coffin inside, most likely constructed of stone in the manner of the rest of the crypt.

Hesitating on the threshold Kayleigh found herself wrestling with the dilemma she found herself in; she was loathe to enter and in some way be disrespectful of the dead but on the other hand her natural sense of curiosity also gripped her. She was about to turn and walk away when the mental image of her grandfather appeared, she had been six years old at the time and he was paying the family one of his regular visits. She had never forgotten what he had said to her that day, and often repeated it as a mantra of her own in “There is no greater tragedy than an opportunity lost”, the words as clear today as they had been all those years ago.

Taking a deep breath Kayleigh tried to tell herself that both the crypt, and the churchyard that surrounded it, was probably one of the safest places in the world as everyone present was dead; she very nearly succeeded. Despite her nervousness she stepped forward, lowering her head to avoid the low set marble at the entrance which bore the family coat of arms, Kayleigh proceeded a couple of steps into the crypt and waited for her night vision to kick in now that she was clear of the light, cursing herself inwardly for not being in possession of a torch.

So intent was Kayleigh on her surroundings and not bumping into anything she couldn’t help but hear an almost imperceptible noise from somewhere ahead, sounding all the world like a suppressed giggle.
“Is someone there?” Kayleigh said, forcing herself to sound brave in spite of feeling her heart beginning to beat faster.

All around her the darkness within the crypt was thrown aside by the lights which suddenly switched on. Covering her eyes from the sudden glare Kayleigh watched as a group of her friends rose up from behind the coffin on the far side of the crypt and loudly chanted the badly synchronised word of “Surprise”. Kayleigh looked around; a black banner had been erected on the far wall which proclaimed in red lettering “Happy Birthday Kayleigh”. It was Jacob who was the first to reach her, hugging her and planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Stacy told us you liked this place, we couldn’t think of anywhere better to celebrate,” he said.
Kayleigh smiled broadly as he put a glass into her hands and began to fill it with a red liquid, her fangs momentarily visible.
“Thank you Jacob,” she said, “Thank you very much”.

It really creates a vivid image in my mind, I like it

I just red them all. They're awesome

About time I added to this so here goes:

THE FIRST TIME
The girl barely raised her head as he entered the room and he paused in the doorway as he looked at her, for her own part she was seemingly content to stare shyly at the floor. Her long brown hair covered part of her face before draping over the shoulder straps of the black dress she wore. He crossed over and placed a hand on each arm, noting the barely concealed tremble as he did so. Reaching up he brushed the hair from her face and cupped her chin in his hand, raising her head until their eyes met.
“I never thought to see something so divine,” he said.
The girl smiled for the first time, the auburn eyes which lit up as an echo of the smile betraying her innocence.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he said, his voice holding steady with a confidence he wasn’t sure he truly felt.
Slowly her right hand moved to the left hand strap of her dress before pushing it clear of her shoulder. Turning her attention to the bed behind her she sat herself down, her eyes once again focussing upon the floor. Sitting down next to her he noted the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Have you done this before?” she asked.
He made pretence of clutching at his heart, “Now there’s a turn up,” he said, “I was beginning to think you’d been struck dumb”.
A second later he knew he had miscalculated as her expression hardened and she began to stand up.
“I’m sorry,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, “That wasn’t funny was it?”
She turned to look at him, her irritation registered on her face, “No it wasn’t,” she said.
He took a breath, casting a look around the room, “You’re not the only one here feeling nervous,” he said, “I’m making my debut as well”.
An arm made its way across his shoulders, “I never knew,” she said, “You always make it seem like you had plenty of girlfriends”.
“All the world’s a stage,” he began.
“And all the men and women merely players,” she concluded, “Never had you down as someone who would read Shakespeare”.
“People do tend to tell me that, want to learn more about my hidden depths?”
“Perhaps later,” she said as her smile returned, leaning forward she kissed him and he felt the beginnings of arousal.
Breaking away from the kiss she scooted herself backwards and turned sideways before resting her head on the pillow. Turning round he climbed onto the bed and began to edge forward on his hand and knees; stopping with his knees parallel to her hips he stroked her upper thigh, his fingers lightly touching the skin under her dress. Leaning in he kissed her once again, this time their tongues coming together for a moment before he moved his head away and began to nuzzle her neck.
The arousal he’d previously felt began to grow within him at a rate he’d never thought possible even after the conversations he had with his peers. As his teeth begin to sink into her neck he felt her shudder and he lifted her before locking his hands behind her shoulders, the two of them fastened in a tight embrace. Her blood was intoxicating and, if only for a moment, he was tempted to take too much before he remembered himself. Releasing his grip he eased back to the bed; her face was pale now and her breath was shallow and laboured. Wasting no time he dragged the fingernail of his left index finger across his right hand, as soon as blood began to flow he held it over her mouth. After the first couple of drops fell in she grabbed his hand with both of her own and dragged it closer before drinking eagerly from the open wound. The old adage he had heard countless times that blood was life had never been truer than it was at this moment, it didn’t take long for the feasting to begin to weaken him and it was only with considerable effort than he pulled his hand clear.
With her head resting on the pillow the girl looked peaceful now, the blood which trickled from her lip the only sign she wasn’t sleeping. Rising from the bed he glanced out of the window at the rising sun and he carefully drew the curtains before seating himself in a nearby chair as he began the patient wait for the girl to reawaken.

CORDELIA’S LAMENT

Cordelia moved across to the mirror and silently gazed through it. On the other side the man approached and set a cardboard box down on the floor. Looking up his breath settled on the glass as his attention focussed on the dresser in front of him. Reaching out her hand Cordelia traced a finger in the resulting condensation. The message spoke but one word, “Remember”.
For a moment she thought the man had seen as his teeth lightly bit on his lower lip as he had always done when he witnessed something unexpected. Cordelia’s hopes were dashed as he took hold of a framed photograph which rested near the edge of the dresser. Even without seeing it Cordelia knew what it depicted. Two years ago the two of them had taken a trip to Devon and had stumbled upon Saunton Sands beach more by accident than design. The month of June had been upon them and the summer sun had brought out the surfing community out in force; one of whom had been nice enough to take their photo.
Cordelia turned her fingernails into the palm of her hand and exerted pressure to the point where it almost hurt. Watching as the photo was consigned to the cardboard box she looked on as memories of her previous life followed. As they did so her mind went back to the events of six months ago. It all seemed so silly now. A handful of words hastily spoken and she’d stormed from the house in anger; without slowing down she’d crossed the road without looking and had only been dimly aware of the sound of screeching brakes.
Afterward Cordelia could have realistically have gone anywhere but with no real family in the world she’d felt her choices were limited. In the movies there always seemed to be a way for a ghost to communicate with those who still living but in reality she soon discovered that despite her best efforts it wasn’t so simple. Cordelia’s mind was returned to the present by the motion of the man lifting the box and turning to leave the room. As he did so Cordelia’s lips formed the words, “Remember me,” and the sound was barely more audible than a whisper.
Stopping short the man turned and furrowed his brow as he looked at the mirror for a few moments. As he once again turned away Cordelia bowed her head and looked at her hands as they began to fade. Taking a deep breath as she prepared to embrace the eventual the thought crossed her mind she would probably have done the same thing if their roles had been reversed. Perhaps things were better this way.

I love all of your shirt stories,and how they always end of such a cliffhanger.
If I chant "more" will it work?