Getting there
Mar. 27th, 2007 10:07 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lanfykins.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadowsWarning: this may be the longest bit of pointless tat in the known universe
It had been a good night, but now Emma was questioning the wisdom of staying so long at the party. The route that she could do in ten minutes in sensible work shoes had become suddenly a lot longer with stiletto heels clacking and slipping on the uneven paving slabs, and she had reached the stop only to see the red lights of the last bus fading into the night.
So she had started walking while she waited for a taxi to come past, but somehow a shortcut between two main roads had led her into these silent streets of shut and shuttered shops, where occasional small groups of youths, huddled in doorways sprayed with gang graffiti, glanced up at her suspiciously as she passed. The sound of her heels on the pavement was far too loud for comfort.
The street ended in a T junction, and she rested her weight against a bollard, easing each of her sore and blistering feet in turn, as she looked both ways.
To the left the street stretched off into a residential district, deserted at this hour. To the right the road ran past the blasted wasteland of some urban renewal program, and she could hear voices and see moving figures indistinctly silhouetted against orange flame. She glanced back up the way she had come, but the figures in the doorway were glaring at her intimidatingly.
“Hey,” a voice said softly from behind her and she turned back again, quickly, clutching her handbag to her chest.
The diminutive woman in shabby jeans and t-shirt who stood leaning against the rusty wire fence that surrounded the demolition site, however, was entirely unthreatening, and Emma gladly subsided back against the bollard. “Yes?” she said guardedly.
The woman pushed herself off the fence with a slight rattle of metal and walked forwards with a slightly unsteady tread. As Emma started to tense, she stopped, and stood swaying very slightly. “Are you OK? Only you look lost.”
“I’m fine. I’m... taking a shortcut. Which way’s the nearest main road?”
The woman’s glance flickered briefly back down the street of shops, and Emma felt her heart plummet. The woman must have noticed the change in her expression, because she gave a sympathetic half-smile and trod decisively (if unsteadily) across to lean with her hip against the other bollard. She looked down the street at the various small huddles in doorways, then turned back to Emma, and this close Emma could smell the faint odour of whisky, see the pink-tinged whites to the woman’s oddly compelling mist-coloured eyes.
“The main road’s back that way, but there’s another route. Are you going far? You can probably get a taxi from outside the nightclub, this time of night.” She spoke carefully, and her tongue stumbled over the words only a little.
“Thanks,” Emma said uncertainly. “Can you tell me how to get to the nightclub?”
“I’ll show you.” The woman pushed herself off the bollard and started walking with slightly uneven footsteps to the left, up the residential street. After a long, indecisive moment, Emma clattered after her.
They walked together along beside the terraced houses with their low-walled tiny front gardens, the clacking of heels on pavement muted slightly by the struggling greenery. When they reached the end of the street, the strange woman paused and leaned her hip against a convenient wall to clumsily pull a flask-shaped bottle out of her back pocket and take a few swallows. Emma leaned against the wall with an audible sigh, trying to ease her painful feet, looking away from her companion with slightly embarrassed distaste. She shook her head as the other woman offered her the flask.
“Are you sure?” her guide asked. “It’s cold.”
“No. No. Look, this is a bad idea. It’s OK. I can find my way from here.”
“Like hell you can. Come on.” The other woman started walking again, but this time Emma did not follow her. She leaned against the wall, cold and disheartened, closing her eyes to hold back tears, trying not to think about how lost she was.
She did not hear her companion return, but suddenly she could smell her, whisky and sweet sweat, and her nose involuntarily wrinkled.
“Ah, shit,” said the slightly slurred voice, in a tone of sudden comprehension. “Look. It’s OK. I know I’ve been drinking, but I really do know where the taxis are. I’m not going to be sick or anything. It’s just been a... a kind of hard day. OK? It’s just a couple of streets down and a couple over. You can make it.”
Reluctantly Emma opened her eyes, heaved herself away from the wall, and started limping on.
“Hey.” A slender hand was placed, slightly clumsily, on her forearm, stopping her. “What shoe size are you?”
“Six,” she said in some bewilderment.
“OK,” the other woman muttered to herself. “They’re a bit small, but it’s worth a try...” Hopping and staggering slightly, she pulled one trainer off her bare foot. “Take your shoes off,” she told Emma.
“What?” Emma asked bemusedly, and then realised what her companion proposed. “No. Really.”
“’SOK. ‘m betting my feet are tougher than yours.”
“But...” Emma began weakly.
“Give it a try.”
Emma pulled off the painful heels, and stood barefoot for a moment on the cold stone before quickly shoving her feet into the trainers, shuddering slightly at the warmth of another woman’s skin.
The trainers would have been too small, if the uppers hadn’t been separating from the soles at the toe. And they at least rubbed in different places to her own shoes.
“Thanks,” she said in genuine gratitude.
“No problem,” said the other woman, not appearing to notice the chill of the stone on her bare soles. “C’mon.”
Emma limped behind the weaving form of her guide, too tired and disconcerted to try to make conversation, as they traipsed through rather more than the ‘couple of streets’ she’d been promised. Finally they made the turn onto a busy street, and she could faintly hear music to her right.
“You should be OK now,” her companion confirmed, stopping to lean against a wall and take another swig of whisky. “’S just down there. Plenty of taxis ‘n’ stuff.”
“Thankyou,” Emma said, tears of relief springing to her eyes. She pulled off the borrowed trainers and changed back into her own shoes, wincing slightly at the touch of the unyielding material on her raw heels. The other woman clumsily shoved her yellow-white toes back into the trainers, staggered briefly as she tried to stand on one foot to pull them over her heels, then gave up.
“No problem. Be a bit more careful next time, yeah? ‘S not a good neighbourhood t’get lost in.”
“I will,” Emma said with deep determination. She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a ten pound note, but her companion waved it aside.
“Save it for the taxi. I’d only spend it on drink, anyway.” The small woman smiled, slightly ironically, and Emma wasn’t quite sure how to react.
“Well, thanks. Really. Thanks.” She hesitated a moment and then turned away, hobbling towards the nightclub.
-Blurry dizzy feeling not right Everything too fuzzy Heat but body damaged cold Struggle to reach clarity-
No Torn bodies bleeding scorched where sunlight touched Feeling sick Need the blurry edges
-What had been the shaking trembling the sweat cold on the body Was it illness What was the cure-
Cured now only way trust me Still can even like this Helped her didnt I Getting there getting there
Rehema headed back into the darkness.
It had been a good night, but now Emma was questioning the wisdom of staying so long at the party. The route that she could do in ten minutes in sensible work shoes had become suddenly a lot longer with stiletto heels clacking and slipping on the uneven paving slabs, and she had reached the stop only to see the red lights of the last bus fading into the night.
So she had started walking while she waited for a taxi to come past, but somehow a shortcut between two main roads had led her into these silent streets of shut and shuttered shops, where occasional small groups of youths, huddled in doorways sprayed with gang graffiti, glanced up at her suspiciously as she passed. The sound of her heels on the pavement was far too loud for comfort.
The street ended in a T junction, and she rested her weight against a bollard, easing each of her sore and blistering feet in turn, as she looked both ways.
To the left the street stretched off into a residential district, deserted at this hour. To the right the road ran past the blasted wasteland of some urban renewal program, and she could hear voices and see moving figures indistinctly silhouetted against orange flame. She glanced back up the way she had come, but the figures in the doorway were glaring at her intimidatingly.
“Hey,” a voice said softly from behind her and she turned back again, quickly, clutching her handbag to her chest.
The diminutive woman in shabby jeans and t-shirt who stood leaning against the rusty wire fence that surrounded the demolition site, however, was entirely unthreatening, and Emma gladly subsided back against the bollard. “Yes?” she said guardedly.
The woman pushed herself off the fence with a slight rattle of metal and walked forwards with a slightly unsteady tread. As Emma started to tense, she stopped, and stood swaying very slightly. “Are you OK? Only you look lost.”
“I’m fine. I’m... taking a shortcut. Which way’s the nearest main road?”
The woman’s glance flickered briefly back down the street of shops, and Emma felt her heart plummet. The woman must have noticed the change in her expression, because she gave a sympathetic half-smile and trod decisively (if unsteadily) across to lean with her hip against the other bollard. She looked down the street at the various small huddles in doorways, then turned back to Emma, and this close Emma could smell the faint odour of whisky, see the pink-tinged whites to the woman’s oddly compelling mist-coloured eyes.
“The main road’s back that way, but there’s another route. Are you going far? You can probably get a taxi from outside the nightclub, this time of night.” She spoke carefully, and her tongue stumbled over the words only a little.
“Thanks,” Emma said uncertainly. “Can you tell me how to get to the nightclub?”
“I’ll show you.” The woman pushed herself off the bollard and started walking with slightly uneven footsteps to the left, up the residential street. After a long, indecisive moment, Emma clattered after her.
They walked together along beside the terraced houses with their low-walled tiny front gardens, the clacking of heels on pavement muted slightly by the struggling greenery. When they reached the end of the street, the strange woman paused and leaned her hip against a convenient wall to clumsily pull a flask-shaped bottle out of her back pocket and take a few swallows. Emma leaned against the wall with an audible sigh, trying to ease her painful feet, looking away from her companion with slightly embarrassed distaste. She shook her head as the other woman offered her the flask.
“Are you sure?” her guide asked. “It’s cold.”
“No. No. Look, this is a bad idea. It’s OK. I can find my way from here.”
“Like hell you can. Come on.” The other woman started walking again, but this time Emma did not follow her. She leaned against the wall, cold and disheartened, closing her eyes to hold back tears, trying not to think about how lost she was.
She did not hear her companion return, but suddenly she could smell her, whisky and sweet sweat, and her nose involuntarily wrinkled.
“Ah, shit,” said the slightly slurred voice, in a tone of sudden comprehension. “Look. It’s OK. I know I’ve been drinking, but I really do know where the taxis are. I’m not going to be sick or anything. It’s just been a... a kind of hard day. OK? It’s just a couple of streets down and a couple over. You can make it.”
Reluctantly Emma opened her eyes, heaved herself away from the wall, and started limping on.
“Hey.” A slender hand was placed, slightly clumsily, on her forearm, stopping her. “What shoe size are you?”
“Six,” she said in some bewilderment.
“OK,” the other woman muttered to herself. “They’re a bit small, but it’s worth a try...” Hopping and staggering slightly, she pulled one trainer off her bare foot. “Take your shoes off,” she told Emma.
“What?” Emma asked bemusedly, and then realised what her companion proposed. “No. Really.”
“’SOK. ‘m betting my feet are tougher than yours.”
“But...” Emma began weakly.
“Give it a try.”
Emma pulled off the painful heels, and stood barefoot for a moment on the cold stone before quickly shoving her feet into the trainers, shuddering slightly at the warmth of another woman’s skin.
The trainers would have been too small, if the uppers hadn’t been separating from the soles at the toe. And they at least rubbed in different places to her own shoes.
“Thanks,” she said in genuine gratitude.
“No problem,” said the other woman, not appearing to notice the chill of the stone on her bare soles. “C’mon.”
Emma limped behind the weaving form of her guide, too tired and disconcerted to try to make conversation, as they traipsed through rather more than the ‘couple of streets’ she’d been promised. Finally they made the turn onto a busy street, and she could faintly hear music to her right.
“You should be OK now,” her companion confirmed, stopping to lean against a wall and take another swig of whisky. “’S just down there. Plenty of taxis ‘n’ stuff.”
“Thankyou,” Emma said, tears of relief springing to her eyes. She pulled off the borrowed trainers and changed back into her own shoes, wincing slightly at the touch of the unyielding material on her raw heels. The other woman clumsily shoved her yellow-white toes back into the trainers, staggered briefly as she tried to stand on one foot to pull them over her heels, then gave up.
“No problem. Be a bit more careful next time, yeah? ‘S not a good neighbourhood t’get lost in.”
“I will,” Emma said with deep determination. She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a ten pound note, but her companion waved it aside.
“Save it for the taxi. I’d only spend it on drink, anyway.” The small woman smiled, slightly ironically, and Emma wasn’t quite sure how to react.
“Well, thanks. Really. Thanks.” She hesitated a moment and then turned away, hobbling towards the nightclub.
-Blurry dizzy feeling not right Everything too fuzzy Heat but body damaged cold Struggle to reach clarity-
No Torn bodies bleeding scorched where sunlight touched Feeling sick Need the blurry edges
-What had been the shaking trembling the sweat cold on the body Was it illness What was the cure-
Cured now only way trust me Still can even like this Helped her didnt I Getting there getting there
Rehema headed back into the darkness.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-03-27 11:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-16 09:27 am (UTC)I'm a very sad woman really.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-16 09:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-16 09:37 am (UTC)(OK, I think I'm going mad today. I don't know why. I just suddenly felt the need to have everything neatly filed. Even if it is just virtually. Call it my inner archivist getting out of hand)