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(Turq) The first stranger

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posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 03:37 PM
Walking down through people, stepping in time with my heartbeat, I make my way through town. People look at you, and don't, half curious facial gestures towards you which are shrugged off. It is a shame that at such a pinnicle of life and society, high-risen, crammed with people, such isloation is felt so poiniently. In a split second one can feel the warmth of a smile, a brief, yet accidental touching of skin, a smell. Leaving behind feelings of insecurity, two people can make an emotional connection in a busy, urban moment, and for a second they feel alive.
Weaving between traffic, my legs are intermittently warmed by jets of car exhaust. I am exhuasted, however this place never runs out of steam. Looking back over my shoulder I can almost make out a group of people dancing, and for a moment I am washed over with nostalgic memory of a place or touch. A golden wash of unfathomable space. inside no space. I may have even felt hope. In a second I am disturbed, contact with the shoulder, my head turns from behind. At once, a large bundle of what appears to be birthday cards fill the air and cascade hastily to the pavment. Confused, I turn to find the victim of the collision, my eyes fall upon her,
" I am very sorry, I wasn't concentrating," I spoke slowly, half uninterested, completely encapsulated by the unnerving vision of beauty before me. For a stretch I examine the gentle creases in her lime, flowered dress.
"Is it your birthday?" I ask as I kneel down to help retrieve the cards. As the words had leave my mouth she turns to me,
"This one is for you." I look down to examine the object placed into my hands, and upon returning my gaze, she is gone. Her perfume is faintly present as I get up to leave.

Behind Cleopatras Needle


Liquor, a pill from the box, Nick Cave emenates from the record player. Home is not a refuge for the anxious mind, mine was twisting inside itself. The note she gave me still vacated my hand, the edges now curled and torn. Relaxation escapes me. Was I deeply fearful of this unusual episode? Was I afraid to confront my desires? Cleopatra's Needle, this uptown Jazz Club had been a sanctuary in years past, perhaps the familiarity would help me. Friends had been made under that roof, I felt it was a good sign. I read a poem*.

Your eyes are islands
Lord - cast my soul
Ashore - Oh Beauty

Your body - even in sleep
All Paradise. We are one
In love - two, knowing that
And three - apart

And four - by this grace
Of making, of facing
Each other, and our selves.

When I spring, from dream
To write - you stir
Murmuring - 'my long lost...'
Images - mosaic
Fragments - reassemble

The poem - land-locked yet
Complete - as Blake's vast
Vision - yet more real

Now time stands still

As out of mine

Deep into your
Eyes I see

That you are
Life to me -


My record player wailed and screetched. The LP had finished and now the needle lay in the center of the record making that awful sound. I had been asleep. It was now eight O'clock. I picked the note of the floor and
grabbed my coat. The subway turnstyle grinded round and I stepped out into the street and lit a ciggerette. The match burnt my fingers leaving a black residue on my thumb and index. Hurt. I walked the five blocks to the club and momentarily hesitated, it had started to drizzle with rain. Who was she? I made a right turn into the ally behind Cleopatra's and stepped through a series of puddles. The sound of dripping filled my ears and a blade filled my gut.
My killer came from behind, and I never saw who that person was. The blood escaped from the hole in my side, saturating the cool, wet asphalt beneath me. I looked up into the rain and passed silently.
"Did she want me?"

* Micheal Horovitz - Frances

[edit on 6/21/2004 by earthtone]

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 03:49 PM
like i said to you a minute ago
u'll never cease to amaze me!

wish i had a lime, flowered dress

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 03:52 PM
u know what
i could sit here and write which lines i like and why
i like it all
i n c r e d i b l e

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 03:55 PM
Thank you
I wish more people wore clothes like that.
appreciate the comment.

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 04:14 PM
Nice, I was wondering when you were going to throw your hat in the ring.

Well I sure as hell did not see that ending before hand! Wait'a side swipe me.
Sorry, as I tend to over analize everything, but could you elaborate on a something for me? I am assuming (correct me if I am wrong) that the muderer is the woman, but one line is really taking me for a loop: "Did she want me?"

Does this have to do with control of sorts? How are you defining the word: Want? Told you I'm anal!

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 04:27 PM
I am glad you have been analyzing!
thank you for showing interest.

I felt that the identity of the killer was not important in relation to the overall meaning of the story. I suppose the want part is the character considering if on any level the girl cared for him.
Does that answer your question?
I'm not sure about your idea of 'control', if you allaborate I am happy to answer your questions

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 04:40 PM

Originally posted by earthtone
Does that answer your question?
I'm not sure about your idea of 'control', if you allaborate I am happy to answer your questions

OK, then the girl is not necessarily the killer so my question is moot.

What I ment by control is that, since to ultimately control anything is to end up destorying it, the killer may have been attempting to gain control of the main character by killing him. Why do this? Well, if it was the same girl then this may have been an act to regain a sense of control because of the situation that was out of her control earlier (when he showed control by causing her to drop what she was carrying).

Told you I over analyze everything!

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 04:44 PM

Told you I over analyze everything

I love it! Don't worry. This is what I think is great about stories like these, the fact that everyone can make their own story from it, their own meanings and feelings. Maybe the women was a pshyco. I mean why the hell would she have all those birthday cards anyway

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 05:14 PM
i agree great story... your style of writing gets me hooked into the story everytime.

posted on Jun, 21 2004 @ 05:16 PM
Thanks alot WorldWatcher, I'm really glad you enjoyed the story. Good luck in the competition.

posted on Jun, 22 2004 @ 12:44 PM

Originally posted by Jonna

Well, if it was the same girl then this may have been an act to regain a sense of control because of the situation that was out of her control

thats an interesting idea i definitely think thats possible. i have a few ideas about what happened...
she needed to be in control again cos it was driving her crazy.

i think that it is possible it was jus some druggie down the 'alley' who stabbed him and the girl forgot completely about the guy because after all he's practically non existant other than in his 'anxious mind'

to my mind,if the girl were to be the killer she would definitely have talked to him before killing him and extinguishing all hope of being with him.

as for her dropping her things, she seems like the scatty type. note the 'gentle creases' in her dress. this could also give reason to her forgetting to meet him there...scatterbrain.

or..she could have been right round the corner and after he 'passed silently' rush to his side after the killer had ran off.

if the cards were all birthday cards and she had so many of them.. how could she know which one was the one meant for him? .... she would have been more likely to pass it into his hand while he walked past than risk it gettin wet on the floor, or blow into the traffic.
this suggests that maybe the card wasn't meant for him.
maybe it was meant for someone else.. someone she didnt even know perhaps.

to me it seems as if there is another party involved. a bigger one than these two characters.. what with talk of dark alleys, knives and a jazz club.
i think someone set out to kill him but got the wrong person.

hmm.... im coming to conclusions as i think...

posted on Jun, 23 2004 @ 02:49 AM
Interesting analysis happk. I like the way you have caught onto to all the imagery and clues that are inside the short tale. You are at the same on the right trail and at the same time not
Thank you for taking the time to look at my story in such depth, I wish it was longer now.

posted on Jun, 23 2004 @ 10:51 AM

Originally posted by earthtone
You are at the same on the right trail and at the same time not

are u saying you know who the killer was? this is turning into a murder investigation...

i took a walk in the rain just now...
and i was thinking perhaps he killed himself. its quite likely.he was drugged up and stressed out. who knows what the 'pill' was...

posted on Jun, 23 2004 @ 12:07 PM
Wh o knows ind e e d........


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