Curb Life

The air felt strange that night. Just before he wiped the blood from his knuckles he looked down at the beauty he had destroyed, and nothing more. The skies above broke and they punished the earth with rain and hail stones. Soon the floor was drenched and what was broken now rises in the flood, seen by those who care to look for only a moment and then it's gone forever. Swept away into the unseen. He raised his hands to the air and let the rain clean what was left. Crushing the imperfect droplets between his fingers, his eyes never straying from the gaze of ignorance.

She struggled to move. Soon the scarlet was washed pale and for a moment the rain was nothing more than a play thing, running underneath the sleeves that grasped with a drench grasp of his flesh. His knuckles were no longer bloody, only bruised. A final glance is all that was needed before he walked away, and then she moved. Then once again she fell down and once more the flood cleaned the blooded earth and once more she was nothing more.

He left the sight of the alleyways single spotlight; angled like gallows, crooked and broken. For every moment it shone, there were more when it didn't. It towered over the alleyways relic bricks that were being held together with nothing more than graffiti and the waste of nature.

The howling rabid dogs ravaged by the savage screams of wind. Flashing red and white light fly passed shadows and flees before they're cast. Nothing had happened that night and in their eyes it hadn't. Rolling along the black river; crashing through spray and the earth and the wake of Men. Travelling on. Never glaring. Never casting shadows.