• When you click on links to various merchants on this site and make a purchase, this can result in this site earning a commission. Affiliate programs and affiliations include, but are not limited to, the eBay Partner Network.


This topic is now archived and is closed to further replies.

Truth walks the long, lonely coin road. Part One

4 posts in this topic

This story is strange, surreal, almost unbelieveable. But it is my story.



I awaken suddenly, as if in a deep sleep, sitting in a crouched position, as if huddling against the foggy, moonlit lamppost. The street is empty, no one, not a thing moving, nor a creature about. The sky is dark and with a wisp of midnight moisture, a cool, light breeze brushes against my furroughed brow. I get up slowly and look about. My joints ache with pain, as if I had been sleeping in an awkward postion for many an hour. The eyes blurred. The only sight is a long, black street, wet with rain, embraced by fog. The lamppost gives out a shimmer of light, which quickly is overcome by the blackness of fog. I don't know where I am, or what I had been doing, or where I had come from, my memory is vague, unclear, my thoughts are mangled, uncontrolled. I slowly walk from the comfort of the light toward the darkness, unassured, but firm in my step. I look about, and began to make out the sillouette of several two and three story buildings, old, dilapidated, unkept. The images come into view, a small hotel, a tiny saloon, an unwelcome theatre. The neon lights flashed into view, flickering on and off with colors of blue, green and red. "Hotel Koin", read the signage. The lights hummed against the moisture of the midnight air, buzz, buzz, buzz. I ventured ever so slowly, still unaware of where this place was, empty automobiles lined the curbs, no people within the hotel or on the street. As if the townspeople were asleep. Strange. Yes, very strange. I began to gather my thoughts of where I might be, in a town, somewhere I belong? No, somewhere I was leaving? I opened the hotel's front door, and entered, ever so slowly. The air was musty, moldy, the carpet was bright in color, but worn from years of use. I stepped toward the counter, beautiful mahogany wood, cracked from age, chipped about the edges, a time where this place had seen better days. The brass room keys hung in order on the rack, tarnished from years of neglect. I rang the bell with a quick ting of my finger, no one entered, not a soul from behind the counter. I could hear the television broadcasting with a buzz. I leaned over the counter and could see the back room lit, the TV blank with snow. "Hello, Helloooo", I cried out, to no avail. The room was empty, as if the proprietor had left in sudden haste. "Anybody here?", I queried. No response. A chill went down my backbone. Something was not right. Withdrawing slowly, I backed out toward the door to leave. With a jolt of sound, the jukebox in the corner came to life, blasting out a song from the past, "Good goly, Miss Molly..............", an old tune, by Lucybop, repeatedly blaring from the speakers, the sound was deafening. After several seconds, the jukebox went dead, the neon darkened. A bit rattled, I stammered out the door. Quiet again, save for a faint sound in the distance. It called to me, as if it were a Siren singing out to a sailor of the night, a sailor who would meet his death. I slowly walked past the old storefronts into the darkness.


Part two later.



Link to comment
Share on other sites