Did a God
Give you your fears
Just to have an angel
Wipe your tears?

It's a good night. It's cold and wet, but not as mean as me.

It was September 19th and I remember looking at my watch and seeing that it was 21:33 when I heard the sound of her high heels knocking against the wet pavement and then echoing from the walls that stood too close for comfort. The alleyway that I had chosen was too tight—even with my back pressed against the wall, the one that faced me seemed to move closer with every passing minute and the drops of water that fell from the blocked gutters above me found my exposed skin without any effort.

I took my final drag on the Red Strike cigarette that I had lit so long ago and dropped it beside my feet before standing on it. The sound of the woman's footsteps came closer and closer. The sound of her soft humming became audible and the wind began to carry the scent of her perfume to me. The manufactured smell of flowers spreading across acres of land when you are under such circumstances feels like a joke that has fallen right on its dead ass. People are dying of hunger, but you have to smell nice. Missionaries spread the word of God and bribe the poor with tobacco and faded, long donated clothes but the Vatican must have its golden decorations and soft, silk sheets for the Pope to rest upon.

Finally she passed the alley and although for a moment I was positive that I had been standing too close to the mouth and not back in the darkness, she didn't notice me. But I noticed so much about her. White skin, dark hair chopped short and feathered at the shoulders, leather jacket, sensible skirt that stopped just above the knees with accompanying stockings and high heels. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, certain that I could see the movement of blood pounding through my very being.

Finally I opened my eyes and charged out of the alleyway, running in the direction that the female had so recently ventured. Almost instantly I was breathing heavily, but it was due to excitement and nervousness. The adrenaline had me feeling as if I was ready to run a marathon and when I realised that I could not see the girl, I feared that I may well have to just find her again! The beam of a streetlight revealed her to me. In fact, it made her look like an actress who has just stepped out onto the stage and been christened with the light whilst her surroundings fall into darkness.

Drawing closer, she finally heard me. She looked over her shoulder but did not seem too alarmed or concerned. After a quick glance, she looked straight on again and continued to walk. No pulling her handbag closer, no sudden change in the way her legs moved as she walked because she had suddenly been struck with mortal fear. A man that she did not know had appeared from nowhere and was running towards her. Nobody else was around. Yet she showed no fear. She. Showed. No. Fear.

The stupid fucking

'Whore!' I spat with venom as my feet rose from the floor and I hurtled towards her like a savage animal. She screamed like you would expect a girl to as we tumbled to the ground with me on top of her, easily pinning her down with my strength.

'Please!' she screamed in desperation as I remained on top of her. By sheer chance, her skirt had lifted just to fall back against her hips. Her panties were a cheap material that ripped easily in my hands, somewhat ruining the experience.

She pleaded again and I hit her square in the mouth. I hit her again as she was still recovering and the blood that had originally surfaced as a crimson drop quickly ran from her lips with determination. Her eyes had rolled back as if she were dazed, yet she continued to scream and try to close her legs as I positioned myself between them and began to pull at my belt. Pulling my fist back for a third blow, I just stopped and looked at the reality of the situation. My fist opened like a flower that is finally mature enough to stand before the sun and I got to my feet. It was another few seconds before she stopped screaming.

'You done?' she asked as she stared up at me. With one hand she supported herself from the ground, with the other she wiped the mess from her face.

'I never came,' I said, a little ashamed. 'I didn't even get stiff.'

Getting to her feet now, she shook off the little dizziness that still remained and said, 'You still have to pay.'

'Well I hardly think that is fair…' I began but never had the chance to plead my case.

'Frank!' she called at the top of her lungs before turning to me and stating, 'I only work here. Sort it with Frank.'

So she walked back from whence she came and I saw a few silhouettes come from the shadows and briefly gather around her before walking into the darkness with her. They were clearly getting her ready for her next performance. I turned when I heard the sound of heavy footsteps that only a man can produce coming towards me. The creature that approached (he looked like a troll from a fairytale) cleared his throat in a way that suggested he was a heavy smoker. Although he was small, he carried himself in a way that suggested he could destroy you with his bare hands. I assumed correctly that this was Frank.

'So what's the problem?' he asked. His voice was calm but also hinted at a little anger just beneath the surface.

'I couldn't get hard,' I explained. 'It was the girl.'

'What? You wanted some kind of ethnic? I can get you one of those, if that's what you need. You name one and I'll have one.'

'No,' I shrugged. 'She wasn't believable.'

'Hey!' he said defiantly, making me guess that he was either fucking her or madly in love with her, but definitely not both. 'Tiffany is one of our best girls! People ask specifically for her.'

'Maybe she was having an off-night?' I suggested cautiously.

'Maybe you were,' he said. 'You still have to pay.'

Forty minutes later and I was walking away from the studio grounds. The high steel gates that were topped with razor wire slammed shut behind me. A sign on the side that faced me simply read Frank Swan Fantasy Studios—Release your TRUE self and potential! I laughed at the idea. The complimentary DVD that they had given me after I had paid was inside my jacket, but I doubted I would ever watch it. Why would I want to watch myself chase a woman, overpower her and then just get up and go? It was ludicrous!

Sinclair Train Station was empty when I arrived. A man who I guessed to be Muslim was mopping the stained floor, pushing around discarded cigarette ends and soiled condoms. I approached the ticket counter and was greeted by a chubby male with blonde hair neatly combed to the left. Although he was clearly aware of my presence, he stared at the portable television to the side of him to see the end of a Newman and Baddiel sketch before giving a faint chuckle and turning to face me.

'Where are you going?' he asked before running his tongue across his lips like a lizard of some variety. I tried to look back to my state education to recall what reptile would perform such an expression, but broke myself from my daze to reply.

'Ummm…' I began and looked at the times and destinations on the monitor in front of me. 'Howit's Pass,' I answered when I noticed that the train to that destination would be due in any second.

'Identification and number?' he asked as he typed in whatever information was needed for his records.

'Kirby, Craig Stanley,' I said as I took my laminated card from my pocket and held it to the plastic screen that divided us before continuing, 'zero-zero-nine-nine-nine-seven-eight.' It was far from a top-ranking number, but it still granted me access to most areas and guaranteed me a job at the far end of the scale that had mopping the floor of a train station or selling tickets at the other.

The ticket seller nodded and gave me my slip, wishing me a pleasant journey. The animal slaughterer with a mop in his hand and a tea towel wrapped around his head politely bowed and stepped aside as I descended the escalators to reach the platform. When I arrived, I first assumed that I was the sole traveller. Spotting an incredibly attractive female sitting in a chair revealed my mistake, and as I examined her, I clenched and loosened my fist to awaken the tingling sensation of my bruised knuckles as movement stirred between my legs. She must have been about 25 and had a number of earrings running up her left lobe. An angel alone in the station, reading Ayn Rand. If she was aware of my presence, she kept it well hidden. Part of me wanted to examine her from her other side, to see if she had the same amount of earrings decorating her right or a different number all together. Part of me wanted to talk to her in the hope of finding good sex and a body to add a little more heat to my marital bed during the winter nights. Part of me wanted to throw her to the ground and fuck her up the ass whether she agreed to it or not. I bet that she would agree to it. To be travelling at this hour and to this location, she would have to be at a similar ranking to me. She would know of the building frustration. Maybe that was why she chose to mutilate herself with silver jewellery?

And then I realised why she chose to harm herself and I was saddened. The way she was dressed suggested that she longed to be "alternative". Her look was so unique and shocking that she would have purchased her striped stockings and steel toe-capped boots at a large store, every piercing done professionally and hygienically in a popular mall that charged a small fortune. It seems impossible to be the individual.

The screeching of brakes came from the tunnel to my left, followed by a gust of wind and a series of yellow lights that ran along the outline of the vehicle. The train finally emerged from its hiding and began to come to a halt. I counted one or two passengers in the carriages that went by. When the train finally rested and the doors opened, I was facing an empty row of seats. I sighed and looked to my right, just to see the girl climb aboard the train. No doubt she was in a carriage offering company whilst I was to be alone.

I stepped aboard and found a seat. As I was the only person, it was relatively easy.

I was relieved when we left the tunnel behind us and streets and trees rushed by. The train stopped at one destination but the doors remained shut. From where I was placed, I could see a man beating the head of another against the floor. I straightened my back ever so slightly, just to get a look at the blood that appeared black in the cold moonlight. Finally, the victor ended his accomplishment by taking a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one. The way he shivered suggested that he was cold, but I knew the truth—his body was shaking from the adrenaline that was pounding through it. I envied him.

The man slowly turned and I could see tiny specks of blood across his face like freckles. He stared at the cigarette until he was certain that he had lit it and then his eyes rose and he became aware of the train for the first time. He became aware of me, for the first time. Rage filled his eyes and he began to say something that I couldn't hear. Overcome with fear, I almost fell as I jumped to my feet and ran to the sealed door, pressing the palms of my hands and forehead against the cold glass. I must have been shaking as badly as he was when he came ever closer to the glass, his eyes wide with anger as he shouted something that the train sheltered me from.

'Yes!' I cried, and the breath from my mouth instantly made a small oval of fog across the transparent glass. 'Yes!' I cried again.

We stood there like twins—the man of freedom with his forehead against the glass in a bid to intimidate me as he slammed the open palms of his hands against the doors. I imagined the glass breaking and the people from outside scurrying out of their dens and taking no prisoners as they stormed the train. But the journey began again and although my mirror image tried, he could not keep up for long… no matter how hard I hit the doors or shouted to encourage him.

I wept for part of the journey. Not gently or discreetly, but wildly. I dug my fingernails into my knees and stood up to kick the chairs or windows but no damage was done. Occasionally we stopped again and I could make out fires with groups of shadows gathered closely around them. At these points I pressed myself passionately against the glass again and wished that I could just be one of them.

The train stopped at regular intervals once the air became clearer and the streets were well lit and tidy. But nobody moved through these areas and nobody boarded the train. Eventually, the train started again after a brief halt and as it picked up speed, it went by the beautiful girl who I had become aware of in the station. For the second that I saw her, my heart jumped to the back of my throat and I got to my feet as if I intended to chase after her. I know that she had seen me, but it was too late for anything to happen.

I got off the train a stop early and flagged a cab down to take me home. As per usual, I didn't wake my wife when I returned.

The smell of bacon pulled me from my dreams. With difficulty, I sat up in bed and swung my feet down to the floor. Standing, I stretched with enthusiasm and stared at my naked body in the mirror—a triumphant erection dominating the image.

'Daddy, I…' my six-year-old son began as he excitedly entered the room. He stopped and stared, clearly shocked by what he saw but also intrigued.

'What have I told you about knocking?' I hissed as I pulled him towards me and dropped to my knees. The fingers of my right hand pressed against the soft skin of his shoulder and I knew that he was destined to be bruised. 'What if you become homosexual?'

'I'm sorry,' he began to plead, but I was determined not to let him finish. Like lightning, an idea of brilliance had come to mind. All the while, my erection pointed at him accusingly.

'It's okay,' I said soothingly. 'I don't have to tell your Mother… but you have to do something. To make up for what you've done.'

'Anything,' he whispered immediately. The guilt was already planted in his mind—it sparkled in his eyes like the water at the bottom of a well.

I told my wife that I was taking our son for a walk. She thought nothing of it. Why would she? But as she talked about a new dress that she had seen and would really, really like, I just stood holding my son's hand and became aware that I was getting another erection. My penis was beginning to press against my trousers in a desperate bid to find room to grow, but thankfully this wasn't caused by my child. I was in the room physically but nothing more. My mind was remembering when I was young. I must have been… eighteen and my friend had a sister who was fourteen. I know that she had caught me looking at her sometimes. She had liked it, too—you could tell by the grin. Did she like the idea of me masturbating over her?

'Yes, dear,' I smiled to my wife as my consciousness returned just enough to get us out of the house. 'Maybe somebody will get it for you?'

My wife giggled with delight and embraced me. I was aware of the sensation of my body being pressed against her own, but nothing more. Before I knew it, I was walking down the street with my child's hand securely in my own. Neighbours nodded to me as they worked on their cars. I responded politely, all the more hating them for their acceptance and refusal to question or think.

'Where are we going?' my child asked as the train that we had boarded began to move. The ticket seller had asked questions about his business on the train, and I had convinced him that we were only going one stop, and that was to see his aunt. The truth was that he had no aunt. His mother and I were all he had in this life.

'Mors,' I replied, which, if I remember correctly, is Latin for death.

'The Moors?' he asked with confusion. 'Why are we going there?'

'Sometimes it's fun to try new things,' I answered. Fun? I could tell you the definition of the word, but that was it.

My heart told me when to step off of the train. I had to force the doors open, but we made it out and ran from the alarm that I had set off. For the first time in his life, my son heard my true laugh. For the first time, he heard my true voice.

'But what does it mean?' he asked me. We were hiding in an alleyway and I was on my knees to be at eye level with him, my hands gently on his shoulders as I told him exactly what to do. Some feet away, a young male aged at least eighteen was standing outside a small corner shop. It was clear that he wanted trouble. All he needed was the right incentive to send him on his way. An elderly black man had recently brushed the dust from the pavement outside the premises and then returned to his place of work.

'Just say it,' I smiled. 'Just a joke. When the boy brings you back here, I'll be waiting.'

Reluctantly, my child nodded and began to walk towards the man who was yet to notice him. Twice he looked over his shoulder at me to make sure that I had not abandoned him. I excitedly nodded and urged him on before stepping back and carefully climbing over a wall so the young villain would not see me when my child led him back. I felt like a naughty boy as I trembled with excitement in somebody's backyard. My chest gave violent spasms as I refused to laugh out loud.

Finally, I heard the sound of running footsteps. I knew that it was the boy and I knew that he was carrying my offspring. The way he was speaking so softly was an immediate giveaway, even if he hadn't been explaining exactly what he was going to do with him. They were clearly right at the other side of the wall, and I tried not to giggle mischievously as I lifted a heavily rusted shovel from the ground as silently as I could manage. To me, the sound of it scraping across the floor as I pulled it up was deafening but the two so near me clearly didn't hear it. As my son screamed for a second time, I jumped up at the wall and dropped down to the other side in one smooth motion. My boy was in tears on the floor and as he saw me, relief filled his frightened eyes. The man had his back to me and was clearly trying to slap his soft dick into a state of greater being. He spun round just in time to see rusted metal rush at his face. The edge hit him right between the eyes, splitting his face down the centre as if it were a line of perfect symmetry. When his body tumbled backwards, the shovel was still buried into his face and as he was unable to try and break his fall, the back of his skull cracked open against the alley floor like an egg.

'Daddy,' my son sobbed and held out his arms in an attempt to have me lift him and carry him to safety.

'No!' I screamed pathetically, running away from the alley and the river of blood that was rapidly spreading towards my former child. I managed to catch a brief glimpse within the store. Magazines, newspapers and sweets were strewn across the ground whilst the black shop-owner lay motionless across the floor. Give the youngster the respect that he deserves—the job was done quickly and efficiently.

'Daddy!' the child cried again and in return I gave him the same pathetic sob that I had a second earlier. The people would soon be venturing out and I had no plans of being here when they did so. My heart pounding, my fingers tingling, I headed back down the alley and jumped right over the misplaced child and continued to run without looking back as the sound of its pitiful sobs began to fade away.

For over an hour, I walked in the gentle rain. The few people that I came across refused to return my greetings and I suspected that they knew full well that I did not belong in their area. Defiantly, I discarded my identification and money along the tracks in a bid to leave behind all my traces of being. I jumped down onto the railway line and walked on, the darkness of the tunnel enveloping me.

For fifteen minutes, I walked on in complete darkness. The soft humming from above told me that the gentle breeze upon my face was artificial, just like everything else that I had felt for so long. Finally, the small circle of light appeared at the end of the tunnel and became bigger with each step. I was within reach of the platform where I had first uncovered the beautiful female who had pulled me from a meaningless existence. Maybe I could do the same for her. Maybe we could create one another.

Smiling, I stepped into the bright lights of the station and placed my hands onto the ledge of the platform to pull myself up. For the first time, I noticed the dried blood and dirt on my skin. But could I tell you if they had been any cleaner yesterday? No, I could not. Joy was expanding within my chest. I was alive! I was reborn! I had found a second chance!

I looked to my left and could not see her. I turned to my right and again, she was not there. I was definitely alone in the station this time, but it did not bother me. It was early—I had plenty of time yet. With a spring in my step and a whistle on my lips, I made my way to the seats and sat down to wait patiently.

I regretted the fact that I had nothing to read.