Friday, January 25, 2008

Grave-Dirt Fingernails


Music was loud and the air stank with an overdose of cheap deodorant and testosterone. “Dark Sinners” at the Kaleidoscope Ballrooms was always good for a laugh if you felt so inclined: the combination of Goth dancers and vampire wannabes outnumbered the living by almost seven to one. Gillian didn’t feature in the equation -- she already had her pretty girlfriend on a dog lead; an invisible one where the ‘come here’ command was no more than a slow flick of her accented eyelids and the hint of a smile. The dancers shunned her. She was old, man, in her thirties at least. If only they had known she was the root of all their fantasies they would not have had Gillian’s grave-dirt fingernails ripping out their necks in the soft light of dawn as the birds began a tentative chorus from the rooftops.

2 comments:

Zinnia Cyclamen said...

Have just read your last week's posts. Each one made me laugh, even this one - but then I do have quite a black sense of humour.

Leatherdykeuk said...

Thanks Zinnia :)