Sabirah
1
She could smell the rain even though it was still many many miles and
hours distant,
and - as the Sun descended down to bring the shadows of night upon her
chosen town - she carefully left her house in Church Street. It was not
that she needed the money, or even, then on that evening, the
life-force that she would drain away from him until he almost expired.
Rather, she desired - craved - the excitement that another such
encounter would most certainly bring.
The streets and paths of Shrewsbury centre were alive, for it was warm
and humid: following the end of another bright and sunny Summer's day,
and the
people she hid from during the daylight hours were taking advantage of
their evening. Couples -
mostly young - happy in their love; groups of friends, enjoying
companionship, life, and the many varied gifts of such a modern town
where many Cafés and Inns in the Summer season placed tables
outside, such were the hopes for, the memories of, balmy English
nights. And she was, there, among them, only one more face, only a
beautiful face of curvaceous lips, only a slim - if elegantly dressed -
silhouette, there among the throng
where the lane from her town centre dwelling took her past Butcher Row
toward the steps that led to the medieval and old timber framed houses
of Fish Street.
Behind her, as she descended those well-worn stairs, there was laughter
from among the people seated on their seats outside the Bear Steps
café, and she was about to turn left to walk down the street
when a group of five casually dressed young men sauntered toward her as
they egressed that narrow shut of overhanging buildings named Grope
Lane.
"Give us a kiss, darling!" one of them shouted as he stopped - slightly
swaying in his inebriation - before her, blocking her path.
"Does your baby-sitter know you're not in your cot?" she quipped,
pushing past him and deliberately walking down Grope Lane while his
companions laughed.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that!" he
shouted, angry, his pride hurt, as he - turning to follow her - caught
her arm.
"I would advise you to let go of my arm," she said, slowly, staring
into his eyes.
Instead, he pushed her into a doorway while his still laughing friends
gathered round.
"Go on!" one of them said. "Give her one!"
"Show us your tits!" said another.
"Yeah - show us!" laughed another.
"You wanna see 'em?" the insulted man laughingly asked his friends.
"Yeah!"
"Sure!"
"Go for it!"
So he moved to rip away the thin covering of her expensive dress whose
upper part barely concealed her fullsome breasts, but she only smiled
at him as her slender right hand caught his left wrist to suddenly
twist then bend his strong youthful arm back. The crack was audible,
and she pushed him away where he fell onto the cobbles of that lane,
groaning in his agony.
She stepped forward then, out of the doorway and, instinctively, the
young men moved away until - for some dark reason on that warm languid
humid night - another primal instinct assailed them to make one of them
lunge toward her, wielding a knife, while another went to grasp her by
the neck. The knife caught her, plunged into her left side, but she
calmly pushed both attackers away with such force that they bounded
against the opposite wall before raggedly falling to the ground. Then,
just as calmly, she removed the knife from her side. There was no blood.
They knew fear, then. A cold, stark, wordless body-and-mind creasing
fear that made those standing back off and those sprawled on cobbles
crawl away as fast as they could move using hands, feet, knees. Such
fear: to take them then away, running, stumbling, panicking, down Grope
Lane toward a bustling High Street where, even then among the crowds
and the bright street lights, they - faces the colour of corpses - did
not stop.
Thus did she throw the knife away, before continuing, alone, on her
journey.
2
She was pleased when he, her tryst for that night, quickly opened the
door in answer to her ringing of the bell. It was a small house,
terraced, in a lane above Town Walls and he - in his late twenties,
unmarried - was smartly dressed, as she had asked. A lock of her
strawberry-blonde hair had fallen across her face - the only sign of
her previous encounter - and she, smiling, swept it aside, saying, "Are
you going to let me in, then?"
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"I thought we might have a drink here, before we went on to the
restaurant."
"What?" Then - "Yes, yes, of course."
She had made him uneasy - as was her intent - and she, rather amused,
watched as he, trying to find glasses, a suitable bottle of wine,
bumbled rather nervously about the small sitting-room and kitchen of
his house, furnished according to his modern minimalist taste.
She had been sitting, the previous night - as she often did - in a dim
corner of an Inn in Butcher's Row, waiting. Waiting, dressed as she
almost always was on such nights: exotic perfume; jewelled necklace;
red lipstick upon her lips; a dress contouring her body, revealing of
both breasts and thighs. He had arrived straight from the Solicitor's
office where he worked and saw her almost immediately. She did not
smile, then, as his senses drunk-in the sight of her body, but instead
she turned away. So he - and she - waited, as a few more people
arrived, conversations were begun, continued; alcoholic beverages were
consumed. And it was as her own, before her, was finished, that he made
his expected move.
"Would you like another drink?" he asked, after he in his working but
still expensive suit, sauntered, casually, over to her table.
"Yes," she smiled.
"G and T?"
"Rum. Oh, and make sure it is Pusser's. They have some."
He looked - momentarily - surprised, which pleased her, and on his
return she surprised him further by saying, "Would you like to take me
out to a restaurant for a meal, tomorrow evening?"
"Yes," he said, hesitatingly.
"You seem surprised," she said.
"Well. No - not really."
So she had named a restaurant, and a time, asked for his address, and
spent one half of one hour asking about his life, his career, his aims,
while he sipped his large glass of White wine and she drank three tots
of neat Rum. "I shall call for you, tomorrow, then," she had said,
kissing him briefly on his cheek, before leaving him seated, and not a
little bewildered, in that Shrewsbury town centre Inn.
The memory pleased her as she sat on his sofa waiting for him to do his
duty and provide her with a glass of fine wine, and - when he finally
did - she took it gracefully and indicated that he should sit beside
her. He - normally so arrogant, so determined, so full of pride -
silently did as commanded, and it was not long before she put down her
own glass and his and drew him to her to kiss him, her tongue seeking
his. So his unaccustomed nervousness gave way to an intense sexual
arousal, and it was then that she, gently, pushed him away, saying,
"Shall we go and eat, now, and - afterwards - I would like you to spend
the night with me at my house."
He was hers, then, and they spent a pleasant enough evening eating fine
food and drinking fine wine in a fine and elegant restaurant, while he
talked about his life, his dreams, his hopes, and she listened as she
listened, until the time came for them to leave when a taxi conveyed
them to her own town house where darkness awaited. There were only
candles, which she lit to light their way as she led him, not - as he
expected - to her bed upstairs but down into the warm clean
brick-vaulted cellars that fanned out from beneath her dwelling to
stretch beneath the road above, and it was there, upon an antique
chaise-longue, that she possessed him after stripping away his clothes.
He was very willingly possessed, for he ardently desired her body and
let himself be held down, naked, while she removed her silky thong and
lifted up her dress to sit upon him after easing his penis inside her.
Thus did she and gently - and, he felt, lovingly - drain from him one
bodily fluid to then lie beside him and kiss him for a long time,
sucking from him his breath of life until there remained only a little
of the vital energy keeping his body, his mind, alive. She left him
then deeply deeply exhausted to sleep in the darkness while in a niche
a large quartz crystal slowly began to glow. Thus did she satisfied
venture forth upstairs to bathe so that when the time for the Sun's
rising arrived again she was alone, replenished, ready to dream as she
dreamed in her darkned room of those alternate realms of her birth, her
alternate existence, knowing that he, her opfer below, would provide
for her in the days, the weeks, to follow while his own weak life-force
lasted. And then, his purpose fulfilled, her crystal charged, his
money, property, gone, he would be cast off to return to what remained
of his Earthly life, where he - as others before him - would in the
following weeks languish for months, alone, tormented by nightly
sleeping travels into dimensions, places, where no unprepared human
should ever go, until - at last, as an almost welcome release - he
would die, all alone in the night. There would be no questions; no
crime; only one more man, dead, alone.
Thus would she, and only then, return, in the dark of her night, to
some Inn - some enclosing warm dim place where young and middle aged
men went or gathered - to sit, to preen, to wait. And when she decided
her chosen town or city was denuded enough, she would move on, through
the years, the decades, centuries, living as she lived, one being of
pleasure, of darkness, death, love and night, awaiting he who might -
who could, who would - freely, willingly, travel with her to that
acausal place of her
birth.
She would be free then, returned, at last - as he, her chosen, would
be, become, a new eternal being, birthed.
DW Myatt
119 Year of Fayen