Blurry Mardi Gras Memories - Thursday

Dean cooked me dinner on the Wednesday night before we left. An amazing cous cous. I felt spoiled and incredibly lucky to have such an all-rounder of a boyfriend.

The next morning we got to Brad's where we met him and Nick. Traffic was a bitch and we almost missed our check-in, but it only added to the excitement and energy with which I was abuzz.

I had a seat by myself, sitting in front of the other three. Dean was directly behind me and gave me one of the best head massages of my life. He also kicked my chair and teased me enough to make it a really fun flight. I bought a midget can of lemonade.

Nick ate some questionable taco mince at the airport while we waited for Dean to sort out the rental car. Meanwhile, I was in Sydney for the very first time in my life! It felt like Melbourne in a lot of ways initially, in terms of size and the way the buildings looked.

Swung in to the valet area of the Marriott and I ooh'ed and ahh'ed at the fancy foyer/lobby - still very much swept up in holiday-happiness. We dropped off our bags and I reluctantly agreed to wait to see the rooftop pool until after we'd been grocery and alcohol shopping. Amongst other things the groceries included fruit and the alcohol included... well, a lot!

We emptied the contents of the mini-fridge into the microwave and Brad stacked about twenty Up & Go's into the fridge door. It was quite precarious, but quite an achievement!

Dean's cousin Brendan met us at the hotel and soon I got my wish and we went upstairs and checked out the pool, spa, sauna and gym! I leant him my shorts to swim in because I have child-bearing sized hips. The pool was freezing and it was raining on us so we quickly hurried inside with our "water" bottles and jumped in the spa. I know, I know, drinking in the spa tisk tisk. I can't imagine that what we followed it up with was much better, but you never hear anyone say anything about not drinking in saunas... I did not care though, I was in Sydney with my boyfriend and great friends and I wanted to get a little messed up!

Out to Stonewall we went, dressed appropriately in singlets and shorts (it was raining). My first gay club experience in Sydney and I was pretty impressed. I think I only saw two of the three levels, but anyway. We danced, we drank, we met a guy called Jasper (I forgot to ask if he had a cousin named Brian, dammit!). Oporto's was the food of choice on the way back to the hotel. Those chips and nuggets now have my saliva glands in a frenzy. That night I didn't vomit but I did cry. Alcohol messed my emotions around a little towards the end of the night/early morning. Normally I'm smarter than that. So day one concluded and I'd experienced a lot of new things. An awesome day overall. :)

Yeah

Finally being able to envisage someone in a boyfriend capacity again is a bloody good feeling:

Realising that you would happily share your bed with them and it would feel completely comfortable.
Imagining even the small things in life becoming enriched because of their company.
Having the faith restored not only in yourself, but in the belief that there are people out there who get you.

Yeah.

:)

Chilled

Cold. Dead. Seeping red. Just how he liked them. The branches stripped bare of foliage threatened to snap overhead. Reduced to pathetic fragile twigs by the season. The wind knifed also at his clothes and face but the down of his jacket and the oversized ski mask he wore made a mockery of its efforts. White as anything, the thick snow made for the perfect canvas - what lay before him was art simple and pure. He smiled down at the beauty of it in its entirety. The vibrant colour, the delightful carnage. He wet his lips and took one last lingering look at the scene.

It began to snow heavily as he trudged away, inspired.

///

"He's got no conscience. He's got none. None." the elderly woman turned her face to gaze out of through the window. She was seated in her rocking chair in her cabin in the woods. Visitors didn't come often. She'd lost her social grace.

"Mrs Matthews... Mrs Matthews?" A concerned voice tried in vain to capture her attention.

Her hands started working on the embroidery in her lap but still she looked off into the distance.

"When did you last see your son?"

"...he was such a clever boy. So good at pretending. But he never... he didn't really feel things." Vapour trailed after each word.

Her visitor sighed. "Thank you for your time, Mrs Matthews."

After a short while he threw some wood in the hearth and got it going. Then left.

He wet his lips and smiled as he walked out the door of his senile mother's lonely cabin; she would be no threat to him.

Yet the cabin filled with smoke as flames licked the walls.

///

Anxious types milled around outside the shopfront of an electronics store, watching the numerous televisions on display in the window. They were all tuned to the same channel. Below the reporter a title read: "Sixth victim in as many days".

'...police are still on the hunt for a serial killer wreaking havoc upon the small town of Kemp, situated 20 miles east of Balmain in the state's north. The tiny population of 200 are living in constant fear, terrorised by what police describe as a meticulous and bloodthirsty killer. Each of the victims have been found on mountaintops throughout the region, which is known for its snowy peaks and idyllic views. Police are advising the residents of Kemp to avoid travelling alone and in the dark, and to ensure doors and windows are kept locked at all times. Many have already made the decision to leave town until the killer has been caught--'

The televisions flickered off, as did the streetlights.

///

He quivered with satisfaction, an irrepressible happiness surged through his veins. The last month had been ecstasy. The town had dwindled down to less than a quarter of its original population. And he'd made such beautiful, terrifying art.

He sipped at the caramel latte he'd made and looked out into the deserted main street. The road was barely visible beneath the snow; maybe one car had driven down it this morning. He was the only person in the cafe. Packets of coffee beans were piled up beside him. He gathered them in his arms and nodded to a portrait that hung on the wall beside the window. It was a photo of a smiling Asian woman with grey hair and her grown son. He closed his eyes and flicked back through his recent collection of memories...

Mrs Kim lay on her back near the peak of Mount Edison, her eye-catching powder blue shawl stained with blood. Ribbons of red paint flung forth from his paint can, lashing at her body and the snow around her.

///

2:43AM - Nightmare

That haunting dream of being cooed to sleep by death. His hand gently stroking the back of your hair as your attempts to call out are muffled by the steadily increasing warmth and blankness. The feeble attempts to call out are soon replaced by a pressing desire to wake up in reality. How much of this is a dream. What if death really is stroking my hair and coaxing me away from life through the disguise of a dream? After the fight is won, the thoughts and the fear of the dream remains like a residue on my mind. And the hair on the back of my head feels unnaturally smoothed. I hear the stairs creak. My curtains ruffle without the sound of much wind being present outside. I sit shaken. The peripheries of my vision narrow, sleep beckons me still. Despite the adrenaline its urging me back. But I know if I return this quickly the scenario will repeat, the narrative will play out again. And who's to say I'll be the victor of round two...? So I sit and busy myself. And say aloud to my sleeping family I love them, in spite of their inability to hear me. Then I write this down and it comes across a paranoid musing. How manic. This feeling, this fear. It stems from somewhere. It was started by something. Doesn't it? Wasn't it? I feel irrational and disturbed, but I haven't written so freely in months. Don't let this malevolent night be something final...