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by Selik on Thu Nov 06, 2008 3:05 pm
He knew the route back home like the back of his hand. The unusually calm streets made for a nervous mind however. He dug his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. Chilly. He began to quicken his steps. His boots clapping against the concrete pavement. His stomach grumbled, reminding him of the fact that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He ushered the thought from his mind and carried on walking. After a good ten minute walk he finally arrived at his home.
The pale sickly green paint of the door. The drab windows paired with shabby curtains. And all in total blackness. Before sliding the key into his door he looked left and right checking for any signs of life on the street. He noticed a blurry figure about 30 doors down the road. It was hunched partly over and walked with what appeared to be a slight limp.
"Finally. Someone is alive around here." he mumbled to himself before shrugging and stepping into the relative safety of his home. He flicked on the light and hung up his coat, retrieving the Beretta from his inner pocket. In the kitchen he popped open the fridge. He spotted a beer and grabbed it, opening it with the novelty opener lying on the counter.
Darren trudged into the lounge and slumped down into his chair, flicking on the TV.
"Happy New Year...." He muttered to himself taking a sip of his drink. He placed the bottle steadily on the side-table and stood up walking to the window. He reached up for the curtain just about to pull them shut when he heard a woman on the television reporting on what appeared to be riots and violence all over town. He switched his gaze quickly over to the screen,before returning to the window.
"Agh! What the...!?" Darren exclaimed leaping back from the window, alert. Pressed up against the window was a man. Drunk. His face pale gaunt. But Darren noticed the redness around his mouth. The grey shade to his eyes. And the huge gash on his left forearm. The man, obviously wasted, had been in an accident. He was mouthing something through the window, almost gnashing at it. Darren was taken aback, eyes fixed on the man. He watched with curiosity as the man began to slam his palms against the window. Repeatedly and more violently every time.
"HEY! Stop that! Fuck off you damn drunk!" He shouted, hoping to scare the man away. The look of concentration on the man's face eventually paid off as a pale fist crashed through the glass, shattering onto the floor, shards piercing the flesh. The second fist connected and smashed through oncemore leaving an opening large enough to climb through.
Darren backed up slightly, his eyes spotting the Beretta just a few inches away from his hand.
"I'm warning you sir. Get out of the house or i will forcibly remove you." Darren ordered.
The man crudely climbed over the sharp blades of glass, cutting into his skin on the arms and his thighs, blood dripping onto his carpet. The man stumbled over and fell to the floor. Darren went for the gun , raising it towards the intruder, waiting for movement, sights poised on the mans body...
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