Mr Black

I remember him all too well, he was always drunk around the corners of the bar around the corners of a non interested town, quiet and ignorant till it said on the Herald front page “Dublin drunk murders woman” then some might take notice but most won’t. He was ‘all’ evil and wanted only to fight in his fashionable way. One night whilst I played my set of thunder and lightning we spoke briefly, harshly, we didn’t agree and I told him he was a selfish cunt, he only cared about himself, the drink, the drugs, the easy lay. He hated me. I loved that he hated me. I hated him. I still do. He walked off and I was happily relieved that he was gone but he came back smoking a cigarette indoors, not cool -not cool. He took his time and walked back called me irrelevant, laughing, took the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out in the middle of my forehead burning me so much I shed a tear. Still and unbelievably calm no one seen it, I told the guys working with me and they were blank- yet seeing the small red circle in the middle of my head they were stunned by the story. I wanted to leave and die at last.

This night now with a drunk head on I seen my revenge, a can of lighter fuel would have done the job, slow and easy out, cold and covered in the clear liquid I would bleach his memory with a single murder flame, take him from this life and move him on, gone, dead and no longer belonged. But that’s too big, I would curl up with the shame of that unfurl flame, what about the faith in that we all get what we deserve and he did when I seen him in a suit at lunch in town so slow not to see the mayonnaise on his tie.

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