I can't remember really for the life of me where I was going with this when I wrote this so long ago. I just know that I kind of dig this little beginning.

The Watchings Of a Friend, Fiend Or Foe



I walk to the alley way which leads to my house, where I no
longer belong. The recent rains moistens the air and soaks the ground. I had
taken my shoes off. My stockinged feet walk warm with the wetness of the rain.
The liquid soaking through my socks
reminds me of the blood spilled in my
room that night. Right in that building. The reason why I’m here wandering
through the rest of my life. My house. The last place I saw before my life
began to resemble movies. I look up into the curtains of my old room. My family
moved away after I did, though mine was involuntary. They probably moved to
avoid the rumors. Those were my curtains The people who moved here left the
curtains? My family must have sold the house and everything in it. They’ve let
the yard grow out of control as well. Maybe it’s some old artsy hippie woman
who lives here now. I’m just reopening old wounds though. I wonder if the
person who sleeps in that room ever asks why the curtains are darker in some places
than others. The hippie lady would probably think it was something deep and
artistic probably moved into the house because of the rumors. I am still
wondering though, why I’ve returned. It’s been several years. Oh wait, I’m a
fucking cliché. I seem to have returned to the scene of the crime. I walk along
between the houses spreading my arms out as if I was on the cross on the hill Golgotha, my hands hit the paneling. It feels rough like
sand paper. Why does this still make me feel attatched to the living world?
There’s a piece of paneling that’s scorched. Do these people wonder about the
stains of the carpet? There’s an eerie yellow light shining from the alley
maybe my skin look strange to me. I think for a minute and hear the light
shatter. I am met with darkness. Someone’s still up in the house. Listening to
some pop diva. What did the house do to deserve such trauma? They have a
corvette? But they live in this shithole. Let’s walk down the front steps. The
alarm on the car isn’t on, oop just ran into the car. I was meant to take this
car.