This is my first attempt at a Mid-Week Blues Buster, and I can honestly say, it was a massively enjoyable experience! I suggest you click on the link, and try it out for yourself. Very inspiring! My piece, partially inspired by the chosen song, is called Night People…
UPDATE: Just discovered to my utter surprise, that I won! Hooray!
The night was another world.
The lost and the lonely stalked the city streets: messy collages of torn fishnets, multi-coloured hair, piercings, and streaming make-up. Muffled music pulsed from inside buildings that were branded with neon signs, and discarded bottles littered the pavement.
This was supposed to be Granger’s world now. He watched from the shadows as the night people celebrated their existence, free of prejudice or care. As much as he admired them, he couldn’t go out there. As much as it pained him to accept it, he just wasn’t one of them.
Yes, he was a tearaway. A loner, cast out from his family and friends and forced to start afresh somewhere else. But these people around him, they had confidence, and passion. And they had each other.
He saw two girls, arms around one-another, swigging from the same bottle. Over there, by a burger van, were a bunch of people chatting and laughing. And further down, sat by the roadside, two lovers locked in embrace.
If any of them see me, he thought, they’d laugh me out of town.
Disenchanted by this awful realisation, Granger turned around and started to saunter off into the shadows, ready to find a new future. He glanced down at the crumpled piece of paper he had been clutching, upon which a hand-written scribble read Black Rose, midnight. He was about to let it go. And then something happened.
Everything he had been through, everything he had done, and yet he was afraid of trying to start again? Really? He had to try and belong somewhere, had to at least attempt to make a go of it.
He tugged awkwardly at his battered brown jacket, and glanced at his watch. Two minutes to midnight. Why not?
Spinning around again, Granger made his way onto the street and gazed in awe at the people around him. Every single one of them had a story to tell, a painful past that they’d managed to escape from. They weren’t freaks, or weirdos. They were survivors. Just like him.
He crossed the road and walked up to the Black Rose club, handily illuminated in vivid red neon, before pushing open the double doors at it’s entrance. A wall of sound hit him immediately. Deep, melancholy music with a driving beat, kneaded into a symphony of chinking glasses, joyful chatter, and laughter. He wandered inside, taking in the warmth of the place. Everybody had a smile on their face.
And she was there too, at the bar, right in front of him. He recognised her instantly. The shining eyes and the scarlet lips, that beautifully complimented the red dreadlocks in her otherwise raven-coloured hair. Shaking with nerves, Granger walked towards her. He could hear his stupid shoes clunking on the floor (or was that his heart beat?), and the ridiculous white shirt beneath his scruffy jacket had never felt more ill-fitting (or was he just choking with nerves?).
“H-hi,” he managed when he reached her, calling loudly so she could hear over the music.
“Hello Granger,” she said, passing him an alcoholic beverage (she had a drink ready for him!), “You got my note then?”
Granger took a sip of the drink. It was whisky and coke, and it was good.
“Yes, yes I did,” he answered, raising his glass to her as he completely failed to suppress a huge grin.
Chinking her own glass against his, the girl said with a smile, “Welcome home, Granger. Welcome home.”