Disillusion to Illusion, and Back Again
an excerpt

Darkness slides over the city sky, streetlights flicking on, spotlights on the nightly theater played out below. The temperature is crisp for this time of year leaving the pavements clear of people, preferring the warmth within their curtained fortresses to the chill outside. The silence, usually reserved for thick fogs or snowy downpours, floods the streets only too happy to fill in and work a little extra. A car growls past one end of the street, the noise like a desperate old male lion faced with the new alpha, Silence.

The artificial daylight runs the length of the street but passes as if blind to the alleyways leading between the rows of terraced houses. Shadow reigns within the high alley walls, savouring one of its last true bastions in the world of eternal brightness. The eyes of a cat stare out as if lit by some internal fire, watching with an intensity that hints at some profound understanding of the world lost on those inside on such a night.

The darkness gains ground as a figure passes into the alley entrance. The streetlights throw off a muffled sheen from the figure making no sharp outline. All that can be discerned is the shape of a hooded robed, monk-like shape of about six feet in height. There is a pause, an audible intake of breath, then the figure merges with the shadow. A faint swish and rhythmic click plot the newcomer’s passage along the poorly cobbled alleyway.

“HEY! Who the fuck is this?” A second figure steps out to be silhouetted by the street light.

Other silhouettes appear and merge with the first. They mumble and chuckle between themselves as the stranger’s clicking halts.

The silhouette speaks again, “Hey! You deaf or just stupid? What are you doing here? We don’t know you.” The silhouette writhes as it’s components jostle and murmur in anticipation of what has come many times before.

More faint swishing and the occupant of the alleyway turns to face the questioner.

“You are so very polite, aren’t you,” came the reply. “I am neither deaf nor stupid, if that answers one of your questions.”

The silhouette momentarily stops moving, the response is obviously unexpected and the tone is definitely not something that’s usual. Murmurs again pass between the forms, more urgent than before and the enthusiasm starts to return, louder and more boisterous than before.

“Oh, looks like we got a smart arse here tonight, ain’t we. Hopefully it’s smart enough to figure out how to get all out boots up it.” Laughter ripples through the forms, heartened by the reply.

“Well aren’t you the new Noel Coward with your witty comebacks and permanent audience. Tell me, when you think do you have to stop breathing to free up the brain cell? Or do you have one of your boys there dry-hump your chest so you can concentrate?”

A snarl rises from the silhouette and it advances in the direction of the intruder.

“Fuck this, I’m done talking. Give us your money and we’ll decide if it’s enough to let you get out with only one broken bone.” The silhouette advances menacingly, closing the gap separating the opposing sides. The cat looks on unperturbed, it seems to have seen this situation before and finds it rather boring.

“Turn around and leave the way you came, gentlemen. That’s the only way this ends well for everyone.”

A glint of metal emerges from the darkness of the silhouette. “Mate, shut up now or I’m gonna have to really fuck you up.” A metallic click comes from the direction of the metal. “I’ll pop ya as soon as look at ya.”

In reply, the solitary figure takes a single deep breath and a half-step forward. “I’m warning you, your little pop gun won’t be of any use here.” The voice didn’t seem quite as sure as before but there is an easily discerned determination in it. “You should all go home and start your lives over. This is no way to…”

Without warning three large forms break free and run at the figure. Just as quickly there comes a snap as wood hits concrete and a piercing white light pulses from the end of a staff in the solitary figure’s right hand. For a moment the scene freezes, a snapshot of flailing limbs and confused expressions. Then time returns and the three runners stumble to a halt by tripping over their own feet.

Noises of general consternation and phrases like “Shit I can’t see!” come from the group, along with moans as the runners land against hard walls and ground. “He’s blinded us, man, what the fuck!”

“I warned you! Why do people not listen.” The last part is said half to himself. “You thought because you had numbers and this is your ‘patch’ that you could win, one against six, big tough men. You see where your thinking got you. Now I’m leaving and I’d suggest you all go back the way you came and get home to mummy.”

“Fuck you, MAN! You ain’t going nowhere, I’ve got a fuckin’ gun!” The silver gun is waving unsteadily in front of the leader, trying to aim at their ‘prey’ with no apparent regard for his three comrades stumbling around between them. “Just stay there. I know what you did, and I’m gonna fuck you up.”

The solitary figure moves forward another half-step and braces the staff into the uneven paving. “Put the gun down, it’s useless tonight.” A hum, faint at first, picks up as if from all directions. It rises in power then appears to fluctuate.

The leader starts to laugh, a strangled frog croak of a laugh. “My sights coming back, he just flashed us is all. Yeah, now I’m gonna have some fun.” The humming continues under the laughter, persistent but direction-less. “What’s that meant to do, give me a headache? Man, you fucked up big time.”

“You really do curse a lot, you should watch your mouth. Curses have a nasty way of coming back around.”

The first cry of pain comes from one of the three runners. “What the…my fingers! Shit, fuck, ow ow owwww. They’re burning me, what the…” The figure falls to his knees, fighting one hand with his other as if possessed.

A second of the runners follows suit, screaming and pulling at his neck. The others look on in confusion, eyesight still muted but hearing the cries of their fellows.

“What are you doing, man? Fuckin’ voodoo shit with a staff.” He raises the gun, which catches the streetlight and appears for a second to burst into flames. With a single scream the leader throws the gun to the ground where it continues to glow even out of reach of the street lighting. Around him, his partners are all wrestling with different body parts and letting out cries and whimpers as they do.

He watches the incapacitated gang for a few moments as lights flick on and curtains twitch in the rear windows of houses lining the alleyway. Then without a word he straightens, lifts up the robes around his knees and runs down the alleyway out into the street.

The cat cleans a paw and wanders off to see what other spectacles can bore him tonight. Sirens whir in the distance, but the stranger is gone.