The Invisible Man

Based off of the 1933 film The Invisible Man
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The fire in your mind,
The never ending light that flowed into your unseen eyes,
Your thoughts full of pain that you brought upon thyself,
And yet you accuse man for their inadequacies, even though you yourself be one.
Its cold today,
But then again its cold every day when it snows,
A bitter echoing through your bones,
You find a sign more covered in snow than your invisible bones, and wipe away its infertility,
A town, its not far now.
With trembling fingers you dig in through your coat,
The fingers that caused more death than the snow in the last hour,
A case filled to the brim with cigarettes,
Your fuel or so you make it to be,
Collected from the bodies you so found a desire to purge of life,
Taking with you their clothes, undergarments and all,
Their cigarettes not even being a forethought.
But even with your anger and your abuse towards life you still found the time to arrange them compactly in a case of metal.
The town is nearer now, you can see the glow of the flame pillars lining the sidewalks at night.
Your hand shaking more violently now, the cold seeping in deeper past the coat.
But you find your mouth layered in deep bandages, missing at first and bending your death stick that you so desire.
A broken fence along the road guides you, e'en though you be snow-blind for a day, you keep moving.
Driven more for bloodlust than warmth, 'But blood is warm', you grin a quiet sly grin that makes the bandages lift around your unseen lips.
An orange glow and a trail of smoke etching out into the blizzard, dissipating just as you so readily do when threatened.
You tuck your hands deep into your trench coat, 'DEEPER!'
Your grip lashes around the stitch inside of the pockets and you loosen back up.
'A tear has started you fool.'
But the night isn't over.
A bar, an Inn, or is that what you call it?
You curl your fist up and spit your cigarette into the compacted snow, 'People are here.'
And just as your hand curled, so does your lip,
A violent slam and the door hits the opposing wall,
For a moment, you pause, more here than you thought.
13 men, grown men.
You snarl a growl under your breath that's carried away by the wind and you stomp through,
They back away with fear, 'Who can blame them?'

Your voice turns rough and broken from the cold, a sly grin formed across thy lips and you speak, "I need a room..."

The game has begun.

(C)
Aaron D.
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Done for a Club Challenge