Mark leaned back into his chair and spied out the window at the metropolis. Alive and kicking as always. Never sleeping, just surviving off drugs, alcohol and parties. He lit a cigarette and looked at the empty page sitting in the type writer, then back out at the city.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way” he said out loud to himself then took a large gulp of a purple liquid.
A knock came at his door. He checked the clock. Midnight. The witching hour.
“It’s never locked, come in.” He set his feet back on the floor.
The wooden door swung on its tired hinges and a women walked in. Her dress tight, with layers of red, her hair black, wavy that fell just below her shoulders. Fair face, red lips, dazzling eyes.
An unexpected visit, but one that did not surprise him. The arch-doms, they called them. He breathed in the mystic smoke and blew a cloud of glittery blue into the air. She strode over, her heels clicking with each sway of her hips. She turned, and planted her self in-between him and his type writer.
Mark scooted his chair from the table to give some space between them and crossed his legs taking another inhale of the cigarette.
“Sure do know how to make an entrance” he laughed. Her face, caught in a mask of a subtle smile that hid a life time of emotions didn’t flinch. But her eyes. They rolled, looked out over the city from his window. How many times had she been here?
“Mark mark mark, your latest story, news drama, what ever you call it?”
“Journalism, dear. I’m a journalist”
“Yes, that’s it. Well, it made a lot of people upset.”
“Good” Mark said standing and grabbing a magazine printed on amor paper “It should upset people, that they are being used for a purpose they did not want, drained of their energy for some unknown cause, aren’t you upset about that?”
The lady broke her mask and frowned. “Of course not, we are the ones doing it. “
“I know” Mark smiled “I left your names out for the first go at it. We have had such a, how would you say, up and down relationship. Wanted to give you a heads up”
“We thank you for that” she spoke dryly “But, well, we need you to not publish the follow up, that you are apparently.” She slid off the table and glanced at the typewriter “trying to write” She stepped closer to him, casting a shadow from the small light from the ceiling. “Or should we punish you for not being a good boy for us?”
“Threats don’t work on me, you know that.”
She back up and the light returned.
“Yes, I supposed it doesn’t, does it. We gave you grace because of Julia, but we cannot extend it if you take it so far”
The name stabbed him. His breath caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. He moved towards the desk and took a large swig of the purple liquid and then a long drag of the cigarette before putting it out. He held the smoke in his lungs, then until he couldn’t anymore, cast it into the air.
“Your pain is noted”
“Shut up, you have no idea” his words carried a venom. “Get out, now”
“Mark, assure me -“
“I told you to get out, I mean it. You might be blessed, but I am damned”
Her face held sadness, but it disappeared quickly.
“Be careful, please.” Her heels moved towards the door and the hinges cried as she exited.
Mark slumped into the chair, staring at the empty page again. The cocktail mix blurring his vision. He looked out at the metropolis. It’s chaos radiating into the sky.
He hoped it would be burn by morning.
What do you excluded to keep on the good sides? Or will you risk it all for the truth. Sometimes events can take place and hit harder then the rest, but you still need to dig and get to the truth anyway, but what is the truth? A single or collective of what reality mirrors back? What do you know. Nothing of the sorts.
Read lightly ~