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Shorts
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| The Post Box | |
| By Leo | ||||||||||||
| 18 May 2006 | ||||||||||||
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I wrote this when thinking about intersections in peoples lives. 9.17am The single solitary tear followed the creases down her face. It collected some of the over generously applied make up on the way down. She caught it and mopped it away with an old tissue. Although no one was there to see, you shouldn’t cry. At 79 you didn’t want to cry if you could help it because it pulled you down and reminded you that each day you died a little bit. It made her sad that her only grandson now lived in Canada and she hadn’t seen him for two years. And maybe she never would again. She had a selection of photos sitting in pride of place along the mantelpiece, the varnish worn away from her holding them oh so tightly. Every day. It was his birthday and sending a card made her happy. And sad. It reminded her he was so far away. But at least for a moment when he opened his card he would be reminded that he had a nana and oh how she loved him. The journey down the post office wasn’t so far, but it seemed to be getting further and further away. The arthritis in her hips and knees burnt intensely with every slow and faltering step. She didn’t recognise so many people any more. Too many new faces. The streets upon which she had grown up had changed beyond recognition. Her friends were leaving her fast. Soon there would be no one and barely a reason to wake up in the morning. Nearly there. At last. She took her precious cargo from her plastic shopping bag and placed it tenderly in the postbox. She pushed it inside and then it was gone… 11.51pm He had seen her at the bus stop several times, and then plucked up the courage to ask her down the pub. She had deep pink gums that accentuated her perfectly formed bright white teeth when she smiled. She had perfect skin, eyes that mesmerised you and best of all she was drunk. He was on top form. The jokes kept coming and the laughter never stopped. Closer and closer. They sat on a wall and shared chips. The innuendo had been building all night. He staggered back from the alley having emptied his bladder for the fourth time. “Do you want me to put it away for you then?” she said. Another smile and the faint stirring of an erection. “I don’t think you’ve got the guts..” Testing her. He could feel his heart race increase and breathing deepen. She stood up and the chips fell to the floor. He could taste her. Their lips were all over each other. She had hold of his cock as he plunged his hand between her legs. Her thighs were hot and sweaty. He easily bypassed the gusset of her knickers and could feel the soft springiness of her pubic hairs with his fingertips and then he was in heaven. The slimy interior of her cunt. He had to get inside her. He span her round against the old red post box. Fuck it if anyone was watching. She plunged her hand into the mouth of the post box and simultaneously thrust her hips back and raised her knee to accommodate the cock that he now had between his thumb and forefinger. He felt her warm and wet with the gorged, aching head of his cock before he plunged himself deep inside her. She took a sharp intake of breath and began to mew and whisper words of encouragement. He had to penetrate her as hard and fast as he could. “Oy! You filthy bastards! Pack it in!” some where from the flats someone shouted down. He withdraw automatically. She already had her skirt down. Coitus interruptus. Still it counted. Yes! He was exultant. They ran off down the road grinning widely. The peels of laughter bounced of the surrounding concrete and disappeared into the night… 3.12am His lungs couldn’t work any harder. They screamed for oxygen and he ran and ran and ran. “Down there” he could hear his pursuers. They were serious people. The adrenalin coursed through his body. Mustn’t stop. Keep going. I don’t want to die. He could hear the relentless sound of trainers hitting tarmac hard and fast. The sound of thighs rubbing together as they ran. Where? Where should he go? Quick! Quick! Down the side road. By the post box. He could hear money hitting the ground, he didn’t know whose it was, he didn’t care. He just wanted to go home and see his baby. He would never do it again. Never again. Please god. Please. He didn’t see the drink can before his foot landed on it. By then it was too late. He was going too fast to regain his balance. His arms outstretched as he hit the ground. Hard. Fuck the pain or the damage, no time now, get up. Keep going. Faster. Go on. GO ON! Too late. They were on him. Fists and feet. Hard and fast. He didn’t feel pain, but he knew he was getting hurt. Must get up and break free. A powerful right foot came in under his extended arm and shattered his lower jaw, unhinging it under his right ear. He couldn’t even scream now as he scrambled to find cover. The post box was the only thing he could hide behind. But what use was that? His head now being driven hard into it’s cast iron side. And then he felt nothing as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. The last thing he ever saw was a little silver plaque announcing that the next collection was 6AM…
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