the devil that hounds me;;
Music inspiration: "Sometime Around Midnight" by Airborne Toxic Event
They were staying in a haggard-looking inn in some dreary, backwater town in Western Russia. The strong heaves of icy rain blasted against the walls of their room, almost threatening to push their way in and dousing them with slush. Of course he knew this wouldn't happen, but it was something he had to comfort Lien about; the noises worried her and if the walls really did break down then the rain would soggy up the papers and books they carried and then where would they be? Of course he knew her better; the sounds were a frightful reminder and yet he appeased her and strongly told her to sleep. Soon enough her breathing evened out and off she went.
Yet he stood awake, sitting by the foggy window with his chin propped up by a palm. Without much deliberation he figured he would go and visit the small bar downstairs, just to eavesdrop, he told himself. Yes, just to listen.
Three hours later he sat at the bar, dimly aware of how his stool seemed to be forever tilting to one side and if he weren't so plastered he would have found the damn thing quite annoying. Running the flesh of his index finger over the rim of the dirty shot glass he stared into liquid courage that looked like piss. Out of the corner of his (good) eye he caught a glimpse of white.
He turns. It's the sound of a sharp laugh that reaches his ears first, before the image hits his vision. The dull sounds of the bar dimmer and it all melts into white noise. In the back of his mind he wondered why she would wear such a thin garment in this dreadful weather. During this thought he was already standing, wanting to go to her. She stared hard at him, dark hair spilling over her shoulders and it was so deeply contrasted that he had to blink a few times to focus her entirely.
His knee hit a chair and the sound ringed empty in his ears because everything was full of her. She never says a thing, only watches him as he tries to reach her. Then, so suddenly, she turns and bolts away, just an inch from his grasp. His mind flashes of her in his arms , dark hair everywhere and he tries to call out, but she's already gone.
He runs out after her.
The sounds of the bar return to him in a wave over his head but he ignores it, the mens garbled Russian, and braves the ice rain to find her. Down the streets he ran, body soaked to the bone with adrenaline pumping his legs to keep going. He sees her only in the light of the street lamps and barely can he catch her then. Finally he reached the end of the block at the last street light and--
She isn't there. And so he is left standing, in the rain, cold and tired, panting quietly.
They were staying in a haggard-looking inn in some dreary, backwater town in Western Russia. The strong heaves of icy rain blasted against the walls of their room, almost threatening to push their way in and dousing them with slush. Of course he knew this wouldn't happen, but it was something he had to comfort Lien about; the noises worried her and if the walls really did break down then the rain would soggy up the papers and books they carried and then where would they be? Of course he knew her better; the sounds were a frightful reminder and yet he appeased her and strongly told her to sleep. Soon enough her breathing evened out and off she went.
Yet he stood awake, sitting by the foggy window with his chin propped up by a palm. Without much deliberation he figured he would go and visit the small bar downstairs, just to eavesdrop, he told himself. Yes, just to listen.
Three hours later he sat at the bar, dimly aware of how his stool seemed to be forever tilting to one side and if he weren't so plastered he would have found the damn thing quite annoying. Running the flesh of his index finger over the rim of the dirty shot glass he stared into liquid courage that looked like piss. Out of the corner of his (good) eye he caught a glimpse of white.
He turns. It's the sound of a sharp laugh that reaches his ears first, before the image hits his vision. The dull sounds of the bar dimmer and it all melts into white noise. In the back of his mind he wondered why she would wear such a thin garment in this dreadful weather. During this thought he was already standing, wanting to go to her. She stared hard at him, dark hair spilling over her shoulders and it was so deeply contrasted that he had to blink a few times to focus her entirely.
His knee hit a chair and the sound ringed empty in his ears because everything was full of her. She never says a thing, only watches him as he tries to reach her. Then, so suddenly, she turns and bolts away, just an inch from his grasp. His mind flashes of her in his arms , dark hair everywhere and he tries to call out, but she's already gone.
He runs out after her.
The sounds of the bar return to him in a wave over his head but he ignores it, the mens garbled Russian, and braves the ice rain to find her. Down the streets he ran, body soaked to the bone with adrenaline pumping his legs to keep going. He sees her only in the light of the street lamps and barely can he catch her then. Finally he reached the end of the block at the last street light and--
She isn't there. And so he is left standing, in the rain, cold and tired, panting quietly.