It was always eyes that haunted him.
Haunted being the operative word.
But then I suppose Daniel had brought that on himself.
The vision rated as X, or whatever the politically correct lettering is these
days. Not suitable for those under the age of eighteen. Hell, even eighty
really, though no doubt film producers would beg to differ. Such is the complexity
of the human brain, it has the ability to store images, image sequences indefinitely.
Accurate recall can occur at any time, whether or not it is either requested,
warranted, or welcomed.
The eyes were midnight blue, cool yet not inviting, but no doubt I'll come
back to that.
Separated by chest high metal railings Daniel held the woman tightly, his
breathing fast, shallow. Excited, maybe? Of course from casual observation
he had every right to feel arousal, strong emotion, the woman was naked, the
night air cool around them. Darkness prevailed, a chilly cloak to mask their
union. Only sex was not on the agenda and the woman was unaware just how cold
the steel was against her breasts.
Up to this point Daniel was always more than a little apprehensive as if unsure
what would happen next. If only. Come on what was there to chill the soul?
But then you no doubt may realise that apprehension suggests an understanding
of the future. Quite so, as this was not live action, or even simple fiction
but run biological VT [Video tape].
Daniel relaxed his grip, his hold on her body and as though in a simple faint
her legs gave way beneath her, breaking the hold those eyes had over Daniel's
So, Daniel had been eating garlic or he was drop dead gorgeous? Close. Only
it wasn't exactly a suitable place to lose control of muscles, or balance.
Sound, that too is important to impart realism. What good is it if a friend
creeps up behind you waving their arms, something is missing.
The night was quite silent, crisp clear air. Above, the dark sky speckled
with stars and light hazy wisps of cloud made bright by the moon. Even though
there was countryside all around, the night lacked any chatter of wildlife,
owl or fox. As if they all knew what was going on! Only the light drone from
the traffic on the Motorway beneath the bridge. By now you should be just
about up to speed.
The lorry was, all thirty eight tons.
Completely relaxed the woman fell through space, about sixty, seventy metres.
Not quite reaching rock bottom quickly enough. The vertical grill of the articulated
tractor unit smashed into delicate tissue at about sixty five miles an hour,
maybe a little more, after all the downhill slope had already taken the monster
above its governed speed.
It's only natural to follow movement, unfortunately and Daniel had felt compelled
to trace the fall. At the moment of impact there was an explosion of, I don't
think I want to even think about that. Blood sprayed out in the form of a
mist, liberally coating the windscreen, causing the stunned driver to lock
the brakes. Which maybe wasn't such a good idea. What was no longer recognisable
as human form fell onto the tarmac. Only instead of rolling over the woman
and swiftly crushing her distorted torso, rubber smoked over the road, motionless
wheels somehow trapped and started to spread it. The words knife and butter
come into mind. Thankfully I cannot picture red butter in my mind. As the
skin shredded, parts broke away, to be crushed by other wheels drawing out
sideways as the trailer jack-knifed. After about fifty metres there was no
longer enough of anything to cause a recognisable marker and the artwork stopped,
not that the lorry did. It still had a little momentum to use up.
A solitary car, swerving to avoid a collision picked up pieces of human debris
and added something immeasurable. Perhaps the driver had not realised the
enormity of the situation, imagined that he, or worse she had driven had picked
up the remains of a deer and hardly even slowed down.
Now that I've painted a picture you might understand the complexity of Daniel's
emotions. All that data was stored, ready for reproduction as a Turner prize
exhibit, only that would mean identification of the artist. The witness to
such wanton destruction, terrible waste
One hell of a nightmare.
Only Daniel was awake, this was a little personal therapy.
Jesus, I don't ever want to be his psychiatrist.