The rancid smell of stale urine and weed hung in the air. You could tell that nothing had been done with the house since the eighties maybe even the seventies other than being a refuge for local junkies and squatters. The carpet was damp and rotting away at the corners. It was old and thickened with years of dust, grime, and dirt, littered with little balls of rolled up tin foil, used syringes and empty aerosol, and beer cans that were gathering dust among the stains and rat droppings. The odd used condom was thrown in for good measure. The faded mosaic and floral style patterns at every angle, the colours matching the dated and yellowish tinge of the dark tobacco stained wallpaper that was only just managing to cling onto the walls, but somehow it managed to still be full of volume. My stomach lurching as I was about to vomit from the smell, but it becomes lodged somehow and I managed to keep it down. It had always been comfy to sit on, the white and blues of my Nike air Mantra tucked into the fold crease of my stone wash denim jeans from the cross of my legs, my lower back resting against the uneven wall next to the crude graffiti of penises, Finley waz ere, torn wallpaper, and loose plaster, the large hallway window just above my head playing host to the ever-increasing drama and goings-on outside, a big crack running horizontally along it from one side to the other, the glass vibrating in tune with the heavy footsteps pounding away at the pavement outside, wood crumbling away due to age and moisture, and the not so white paint flaking away.
When I came to I was leaning forward slightly with my shoulders rolled inward, my chin resting on the curves at the top of my chest. Trembling with adrenaline, my thudding irregular heartbeats in my chest like it was trying to escape or explode, the hairs on my arms standing to attention, skin hot to touch, my head feeling like it was being crushed in a vice painful throbs with every beat, the increasing pressure that was building behind my eyes, tears stinging like nettles as they started to form, throbbing pain where I must have hit my head. I rubbed my hand over where the searing pain was emanating from, screwing my face with a wince, fresh blood flowing out like lava from a fresh eruption, I could feel the hole that wasn’t there before, pushing a finger into it warm and sticky, the roughness of the exposed skull.
“I must have hit it hard,” I thought.
The hallway was cold yet sweat was gathering in the course frown lines of my forehead and running down my back weaving between my protruding vertebrae like a slalom skier and the fabric of my shirt becoming attracted to my skin, elbows nestled just above the knee, my red shaking hands clasped together, I inhaled a deep painful breathe through my nose the cold air biting at my nostrils, pain shooting up my left side made me grimace and shift my position, nausea building again followed by a dry heave, swallowing hard to try and keep it from coming out, I held my breath in for a few seconds keeping my chest expanded trying to gather my thoughts, the pain in my ribs got worse with every second I held on to it, I lifted my head from my chest and rested it against the wall I slowly released it into the air, watching the fog from my mouth dissipate.
“No, no, no what I have I done?” I cried in anguish, slamming my fists against the wall, big chunks of plaster and flakes of wood from the window frame falling to the floor as it became dislodged.
With a wheeze, I took another deep breath, I shift my tongue slightly letting saliva coat the roof of my mouth before opening it and letting the warm carbon monoxide leave my body where it is met by the cold of the room, the water vapour in my breath condensing into a light mist. I opened my eyes to a blur, feeling disoriented. For a split second I was not entirely sure where I was, lights flashing and blinking, blue and red beaming in from the outside dancing across the textured wallpaper, the shimmer of the silky smooth intricate design of the spiders webs in the corners as the lights passed over them. I don't recall the room being this bright. But how long had I been unconscious?
How long had I been sitting here?
The concussion was making it hard to focus, the lights burning at my retinas forcing me to blink firmly and allowing the prickling tears to dance freely down my cheeks, two more blinks, opening them as wide as I could and everything fell into my field of vision. With my shaking bloody hands, I patted at my pockets on my jeans trying to locate my cigarettes, I drew one from the crumpled packet and placed the firm filter between my lips, taking in one long satisfying drag, the burning at the back of your throat from the hot smoke being drawn through the filter, the way your mouth becomes instantly dry, the way it makes you feel more relaxed as it fells the walls of my lungs and absorbs the nicotine, the crackle of the paper from the approaching bright orange glow releasing tangled dark blue smoke that stung my eyes on its way to the heavens. The first fag after a stressful day was always the best one but that is all it seemed to take, the combination of smoke, the metallic smell of blood, and the aroma of the room. I couldn’t hold it down any longer, the bile came racing up from my stomach to my throat, the acid burning and with a cough and a retch, I vomited. The sick seemed to blend nicely with the pattern and colour of the carpet, wiping my mouth with my sleeve, leaving a trail of crimson across my left cheek and into my hairline. Rubbing away the newly formed tears I placed the fag back for another drag exhaling through a quivering jaw, I looked down, and resting there on my groin was my blanket. I had forgotten that I had brought it with me, a little sob came out as I picked it up and brought it to my nose, taking a lingering sniff. The smell of the room had faded away for the briefest of moments and the anxiety that I had been building and bubbling seemed to melt away and a calm came over me, I placed it over my head just for a few seconds hoping that when I took it off everything I had done, and everyone had gone and that I was finally alone.
“Stupid, stupid what have you done?"
I adjusted my position on the floor. I noticed that it was dark outside, and it had started to rain heavily, big raindrops thudding against the windowpane to their own rhythm, beneath the window rainwater running down the wall as it seeped in through the cracks and the holes in the frame, the lights still flashing away, lots of commotion and loud voices shouting from outside. There was a sense of panic in the air, an uncertainty, people running, scurrying around shadows being cast onto the walls, I sat and watched their silhouettes moving majestically around the room for a second or two drawing the fag from my mouth and allowing the smoke to free fall from my nostrils.
“Send two officers around the back” I overheard someone shout.
I looked down at my hands they were trembling uncontrollably, adrenaline still high, They haven’t shaken this bad, well since that night all those years ago. I wanted to try and stop them shaking but I couldn’t, I had no control over them at all, making tight fists my knucklebones white, clenching my jaw as I did so. They were warm and wet and some of it had started to dry and was becoming tacky in places, dark red clots had started to form between my fingers and bright red was glistening off my fingernails as the light hit them.
"What have I done?" this thought going around and around in my head.
The room was silent other than the dripping of blood into the already well-formed puddle I was sitting in, the blood had been absorbed by the denim of my jeans and was starting to make my skin feel like it was covered with ants, I listened to the dripping and tried to slow my ever-increasing heart rate, the filter wet and bloody I took another deep drag each one more satisfying than the last, I watched the blue toxic smoke dance into the air then disappear trying to gather my thoughts and control my hands.
Drip
"What have I done?"
I clenched my fists. I clamped my hands, weaving my fingers together.
Drip
"I can't believe I have done it"
Drip
"It's over no more fear"
Drip
"Peace at last"
I could hear the raised voices begin again outside.
“I believe he has a knife sir” I heard someone say.
“Is he alone?” a reply came.
“We aren’t sure. We’re trying to find out now sir”
The light reflected off the stainless steel, the knife with the black serrated handle was resting up against my left foot and the remaining part of the blade nestled by the matted fur-like fabric in the carpet. Blood was running from the heft down the remaining blade and falling off the edge onto the waiting puddle on the floor then springing back up like a coiled spring. It used to be an 8" carving knife with a black wooden handle with 3 screws running down the centre. It was a standard carving knife that could be found in any home or hardware shop. There was nothing special about it, but it was ironic that it was this kind of knife I had used, and it was here in this very hallway that it happened. Blood on the handle thick leaving clear fingerprints, parts of which had also begun to dry. I sat and stared at it for what seemed like hours but in reality, it was mere seconds, then a voice from outside brought me back into the room.
“Do we know if he is alone?” panic seemed to be in his voice.
“We don’t know sir. We have spoken to the neighbor who called it in, but she can only recall seeing a knife”
Taking a broken cigarette from the packet, tearing the end of where it had split and doing my best to light it. No! I was not alone! I wanted to shout, my eyes scanned along the hallway, he was there; his lifeless body had now folded over at the waist, arms dangling by his side, his palms facing toward the ceiling, his head and neck had been partly severed and veering off to the right. The lights from outside unveiling the protruding vertebrae of his neck, an artery was still twitching like it was trying to still pump blood around his body, it was glinting almost like glitter, and covered the wall behind him. Uninformed projection spatters reaching all four corners of the hallway, the little tin foil balls swimming in what seemed to be a sea of red plasma on the floor, swallowing everything in its path. My stomach tightens and turns, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. Why can’t people leave me alone? I just want to be left alone. The room becoming blurry as my eyelids become heavy like weights had been attached. God, I am so tired. I took my blanket into both hands and rubbed it against my chin before letting it rest on my chest. Gravity took hold, I didn’t try to fight it and my body slid down the wall until my head met the carpet inches from a used syringe. Bundling my blanket together forming a pillow, placing it under my head, I curled up, flooded with emotions and I started to cry. The realisation that I had given in and I couldn’t take anymore, so, I lay there with the fag hanging from my mouth and waited.