Blood Rain Free Dating, Singles and Personals

Blood Rain Posted: 7/4/2009 1:23:21 AM
Hello. I haven't been on the forum for a while, thought I'd mark my return with this. I wrote it specifically for a writing competition. Opinons? I hated the rain. I hadn’t always felt this way. I vividly remember the day that I did. It was August 23rd 2008 when everything changed. If I hadn’t been so angry I might have been incredulous that the man was surprised. I had been sat at a table near the bar with one eye on the door while I waited for my friend Stella to arrive. That evening the two of us had planned to meet here for a couple of drinks before moving on to a nightclub just down the road. Consequently I had gone out that morning and bought myself a new red silk dress I had seen earlier that week when using the shopping centre as a shortcut to work. He’d walked over and asked if I wanted to dance. If Stella hadn’t once again kept me waiting I would probably have declined his offer with a smile and the false promise to catch him later. As it was I had grown bored of sitting by myself. In any case I didn’t see the harm, as the pub was less than a mile from my flat, while I wasn’t exactly one of the regulars, I was confident that if anything untoward happened someone who knew me would step in to help. As was the usual theme Friday night a corner of the pub was set aside for live bands and Bad Wolf, as they had chosen to name themselves, were performing a cover version of the Aerosmith song Crazy which as it happened was one of my personal favourites. “My name’s Barry, what’s yours?” he leaned in and asked. “Emma,” I said. He leaned back and smiled at me, I just began to return his smile when I felt his hand slide what to me was an inch too far down the back of my dress. “Don’t do that” I said. He didn’t stop smiling as his hand continued sliding down my dress, and I felt his hand just begin to lift it up and touch my leg underneath. Taking a half step back I clenched my fist and lashed out, connecting sharply with the soft part of his nose and looking on with no small measure of satisfaction as the blood began to flow. “Do I look like some cheap tart to you?” I said. Without bothering to wait for a reply I paused just long enough to grab my handbag and leave the pub, fully intending to make my way to the nightclub and arrange for Stella to meet me there instead. I hadn’t realised it had begun to rain outside and it didn’t take more than a few seconds before my dress began to press into me like a second skin. “Don’t be stupid Emma, come back inside,” a voice I recognised as belonging to Martin, one of the bar staff, shouted after me. Realising he was probably right I began to turn round even as I heard the sound of running footsteps from behind me. A moment later the handbag I had been carrying across my right shoulder was torn free by an unseen hand, the owner of whom entered into sight as he carried on running down the street away from me. On a different day I probably would have contented myself by turning the air blue in the direction of his departing back before going home and cancelling all my credit cards but I was still angry over what had just transpired back in the pub. Kicking off my high heeled shoes so I could run properly it was, I would come to suppose, likely that adrenaline played a part in me ignoring the sensation of my bare feet crashing against the wet pavement and through puddles as I tried to eat into the initial head start he had. Roughly seventy yards down the street he looked back at me over his shoulder before cutting left into the local park. It couldn’t have been any more than five seconds later before I followed him in. He must have fallen over on the wet grass because he was seemingly waiting for me with a line of mud plastered on his trousers as we faced each other at a point just out of sight of the street. I had been so intent on trying to catch up with him and retrieve my handbag that the thought had never occurred to me he might be carrying a weapon such as the knife which he now held in his right hand. He was breathing hard from the running he’d just been doing, and even through the rain I could see his face was flushed with anger. In a curious turn around I felt my feet rooted to the spot as he walked in my direction, the rain almost seeming to dance from the blade of the knife as he lifted it toward my face. In the days which were to follow my family and a large number of my friends were to visit this park and lay floral tributes at the place where I was to be found. I hated the rain. I hadn’t always felt this way. I vividly remember the day that I did. It was August 23rd 2008 when everything changed. That was the day I died.