DANCING IN THE DARK

1 - The Secret

Books never called to me like they called to my peers.

The thought of flipping through pages of words until my fingers wrinkled at the loss of oil didn't excite me, and maybe that is why I never made it far in life. Perhaps the universe had some twisted way of assigning futures, and whatever kid had sacrificed the most of their finger oils was promised a brighter destiny. It's foolish, I know, but it's better than admitting I was the one responsible for the shit hole I had dug myself in.

"We could be on our way back home, now, if you would just pay what you owe me, August."

Raindrops collided with the shiny surface of my black shoes. I squinted my eyes in an attempt to formulate an art piece of the scattered droplets. Perhaps there was new material for a story to create in my head. When my mind came bare, I opted for begging the tiny slaps of water and shoe to create a melody I could hum later. Anything was better than listening to him speak.

Realizing it was absurd to believe that raindrops could somehow conjure up a solution to my current issue, I raised my head from the view of my shoes and positioned myself to clearly see who I was supposed to be speaking with. This was certainly not an artistic view. Although, it had the potential to inspire some works of fantasy, specifically in the category of ogres.

My voice was soft and calm. "I have already said that I would give you the rest by the end of the week." He could say I was afraid to raise my voice in front of him, but in reality, I just wished to not disturb the music playing around us.

The song of a rainy afternoon, consisting of the platters of water hitting surfaces, shoes slapping against the wet bricked roads, and women complaining of how the clouds have ruined their newest sewed dress. If only I could listen amongst the chaos rain created, but instead, I had to be an audience for another performance, one that took place in the deep corner of a grey, soggy alley. It had its own beauty, with the moss growing on the buildings and the starving cat digging into the garbage for a meal. It was practically a crime thriller begging to be written, but I could not enjoy it even.

My provider, or whatever you'd like to call a person who supplied me with illegal pharmaceuticals that enabled me to pay for my rent, he was an ugly, scrawny fellow with balding blonde hair and tired eyes that seemed to want to slip off his face. It wasn't really him I was worried about though, it was his goons that seemed ready to jump the moment he snapped his fingers that had me on alert.

"You seem to have forgotten that I am the one who sets the rules here. The deal was I give you the last of my grams for you to make double the profit. Half for your worthless necessities and the remaining profit would suffice me."

"And I understood that when we made the agreement and now." I narrowed my earthy eyes as the rain began to grow heavier, and the water weighed on my black lashes. "However, if you would just let me explain, maybe we could find a way around it, yeah?"

With a salty scoff, he rubbed stubble from his jaw. "I've had about enough of poxy for men." He threw a quick glance at me, his yellow bloodshot eyes contemplating his next move. I almost thought the man intelligent until he crossed his arms across his white blue silk and lace-clothed chest. "Alright, spit it out then. But if I don't find your little story excusable, I'm taking one of those." He nudged his head at my hip.

I looked down at my fingers.

"And if you don't pay me by the next week, I'll take two more. Good-looking chap like yourself might still find himself a wife with just six of his fingers."

I swallowed the slight tremble that fought to expose me. I'm not an insecure man, but I quite liked all ten of my fingers, and I knew he was not an ogre to spew poppycock-- that much was conspicuous, seeing as his goons were all missing a few of their own.