Insideous White Clouds

A night in day of a Life

The grotesque blue sky. Those insidious white, cotton candy clouds. And
the bright, bulbous sun shining down and lighting up this pestilent
world. I live alone in a small converted loft. I live alone with my
paintings my writings. I sleep all day and only venture out at night,
when the majority of humanity is sleeping, dreaming their futile
useless dreams.

The windows in my loft are blacked out. I can not bare the sunlight, it
reminds me that I am alive. I spend the nights painting or writing. I
have no television. I have no telephone. I have as little contact with
the outside world as possible.

I open the door from the room, step out onto the dark landing and then
onwards down the stairs. I reach out and open the front door and step
into the black night. I live in the middle of a large city. With my
feelings towards humanity, a large city is the last place I should
live, however I find that living here keeps my creativity flowing and
reminds me that I am more than any of them ever could be. I am living a
life where I answer to no man. I am living a life where I control my
destiny. And that suits me fine.

I walk along the road, it is around two a.m. Very few people are around
and traffic is minimal. I take a joint from my pocket and light it. I
take a big drag, hold it in for a count of ten and then exhale slowly.
I continue walking. I have no destination at this time. Maybe I will go
to the twenty-four hour shop, buy some food, not that I am in the mood
for eating. I seldom am.

Walking along, I get the urge to piss. I check that no one is around
and duck behind a tree. I unzip my fly, take out my cock and piss up
against the tree. Relief floods over my body as my urine hits the tree
and forms a puddle on the floor. I put my cock away and zip up. I walk
from behind the tree, I've inadvertently stepped in the piss. No
matter.

I carry on up the road towards the orange glow of the town centre.
Police cars drive past me and seem to slow as they draw along side me.
I take another drag from my joint and keep walking, all the time
staring at my shoes. I finish the joint and throw it on the floor,
stamping it with my piss-soaked shoe.

A girl in a mini-skirt walks past me. She has nice legs and a good
arse. As she passes me I turn my head to watch her walk. Her arse
wiggles slightly as walks. She is damn sexy. I probably do not stand a
chance with her. I decide to have a go anyway. I walk up to her.

"Hey, girly, you've got a fantastic arse."

"Fuck off you twat." Is her reply.

"Well, fuck you too, I'd probably have better sex with my right hand
than with your bucket cunt anyway. Slut." I grab my crotch with my left
hand and make a wanking motion with my right. She slaps me and walks
away with haste.

I carry on towards the centre of town. "Fucking cunt!" I hear her shout
from behind me, the poor little babe. On the other side of the road I
see a group of men. They are laughing and shouting and joking. I pick
up my pace, people in groups at this time of night are usually drunk or
tripping on ecstasy or some other upper. Usually looking for a fight by
now.

A police car drives between the group and me. The bastard in the
driving seat stairs right at me. He missed the group of men on the
other side smash a pane of glass in a bus stop. His partner did not.
The car pulls over and the police get out. The officers walk up to the
group and tell them they are all under arrest.

"What're you gonna do, copper?" I hear one of the men shout. "Fuck
off." I turn and see one of the men punch one of the police men in the
face. I sman to myself and then walk on, leaving them to it. Why
should I get involved?

Onwards I travel on this dark street, the orange glow of the town makes
me feel nauseous. I walk for five more minutes with the wind in my face
and then I reach the shop. The people behind the counter eye me
suspiciously as I walk past them and to the food isle. I pick a tin of
baked beans and a loaf of bread. A bottle of cider, chocolate, pasta
and pesto sauce. I carry my bounty around the rest of the shop, I
browse the magazine section, eying the top shelf. I pick up a magazine
and open it to the centre pages. A naked brunette woman with her legs
spread wide revealing her shaven cunt with a finger on her clit. Her
breasts are huge and fake. I like huge breasts, but hate unnatural
ones. The problem with humanity is that we are never satisfied with
ourselves, always striving for more than we were given at birth. Still,
this image has given me a hard-on. I continue to flick through the
magazine and once finished, place it on the bottom shelf. Some child
will pick it up in the morning and be scolded by an over protective
parent.

I pay for the food that I am carrying and also buy some tobacco and
rolling papers. The empty-eyed man behind the counter hands me the bag
he has just placed my goods in and grunts at me. I bid him farewell and
head out of the door.

Walking back to my flat, I roll a cigarette and light it, taking the
smoke down inside my body. I read that nicotine can be used to treat
Alzheimer's disease. Well, at least in old age I'll remember how my
lungs got so fucked. The group of men and the Police are now gone. I
still have the image from the magazine in my head and I still have a
hard-on.

I take another drag on my cigarette. Another police car drives past
with the cop in the passenger seat staring at me. I think of sticking
my fingers up at them, having them stop and then killing them both.
Then I feel my cock flex and decide that getting home to masturbate is
a far better idea. I pick up the pace, the car slows to a crawl and I
hear the window being wound down.

"Excuse me sir." Says the cop in the passenger seat. I walk towards the
now stationary car and the cop continues talking to me whilst his
partner exits the car. "Just a routine spot check sir. Would you mind
if we searched you?"

"Well actually yes I would. What right do you have?"

"Don't try to be funny. Please put the bag down and place your hands on
top of the car and spread your legs."

How demeaning&;#8230;

The policeman walks around behind me and crouches down. He runs his
hands around my ankles, up each leg in turn and across my arse. "That
feels good." I state mockingly.

"Shut it." The policeman says and carries on with his frisking.

He runs his hands up my sides and across my chest. Then he runs his
hands down the front of me right down to my crotch.

"Hey! Get the fuck off of me!" I shout at him.

"All a part of the search, sir."

"Is it bollocks."

"Please watch your language, sir." As he says this he presses his body
against the back of me. I feel sickened. I push backward and run off,
leaving my shopping. I run across the top of the road on which I live
and carry on for two more roads. The police car has no problem keeping
up with me. I run into the park and across the field, they cannot get
the car in here so they start to chase me on foot. Maybe coming in here
was a mistake. I keep running. Due to my only ever going out at night I
can see much better than them and know the layout of the park like the
back of my hand. I hide out in some bushes and wait for them to pass me
and then run out of the park as silently as I can. I walk back to my
flat, climb the stairs to my room and lay on my bed. I'm slightly
shaken and need the toilet. I calm down and then go into the bathroom.
As I live alone I have no need to lock, or even shut the door. I pick
up a magazine, drop my trousers and sit.

As I squeeze the shit from my body I leaf through the magazine. I've
read it a thousand times before. Nothing interesting in. it. I start to
think of the woman in the magazine and my cock gets hard. I take it in
my right hand and start to masturbate. I start slowly and then get
faster, the stench from the shit in the toilet is getting up my nose
now and I speed up and finally have a weak orgasm, my cum merely rolls
over my thumb and index finger.

I wipe my arse and clean my cock and hand. I stand and pull my trousers
back up. I flush and then walk back into the main living space. My
easel stands in the corner with an unfinished painting on a three foot
by four foot canvas. I'm not sure what it is yet, just that the idea I
had dried up quickly. Something will inspire me. I walk over to the
table against the far wall and pick up my unopened mail. Nothing but
bills and a letter from my bank. I open the letter from the bank and
read it. Bastards have stopped my over draft. I'm going to have to sell
some paintings or writing soon. This means going out during the day to
see my agent. Great. I decide that it doesn't have to be done tomorrow,
so I drop a few pro-plus and then head to the fridge.

Inside the fridge are a few rotting eggs and a half drank bottle of
cheap cider. I open the cider and take a hit from it. I close the door
and go and stand by my easel, paint brush in one hand and open cider
bottle in the other. I put some purple oil on the brush and stand
looking at the picture. Will it come to me again tonight? I inch the
brush towards the painting and make a stroke downwards. No, that wont
do I think to myself and turn the brush around and stick the end
through the canvas. I kick the easel to the floor and put my foot
through the canvas. I walk to my sofa and sit down. I bring the bottle
up to my lips and gulp half of the remaining cider down. Another night
with no inspiration. I pick up my laptop computer and switch it
on.

It boots up in under a minute. I used to work with computers, but now I
can barely stand them. The only reason I use one is because publishers
and magazines don't seem willing to accept a manuscript anymore unless
it is typed up nicely in arial size 10 font. I open the word processor
program and then find the story that I've been working on. It is a love
story about a boy and a girl. They are happy together until one day he
finds out that she has been cheating on him with another girl. The
point that I am at is where he, Jake, has just been with his friend
James in a bar owned by a guy named Al. Well, aren't all bars owned by
a guy named Al in stories? Maybe. I do not care. I don't go in them
anymore, just another place to wait to die, and I'd rather do that on
my own.

Luckily for my laptop, the words begin to flow a little better than my
artwork, so it doesn't meet the same end as that painting. I type and
it all seems to flow nicely. I start to feel hungry so I return to the kitchen, there is stale bread in the cupboard. I get it down and hunt around or something to spread on it. The only thing I can find is an almost empty bottle of pesto. I take a knife from the side and spread the pesto on the bread. I have two slices and then bag is now empty. I leave it on the side and return
to the sofa. I take a bite of the bread and then spit it out, the pesto
has gone bad. I am starving hungry. Why did those stupid cops have to
choose to fuck with me tonight? I had spent almost all of my money in
that damned shop and lost the food because of some bored fucks.

The cider and the pro-plus are kicking in right about now and I feel
wide awake again. I roll a cigarette and let myself sink into the
sofa.

I hear a noise at the blacked out window. The noise is too loud for it
to have been made by a bird flying into it. It sounds again and again
and then the glass shatters inwards. A man leaps down into my room on
top of my table. I grab the small table to my right and run at him. He
turns around to see me just as I swing and hit him with the table. He
falls to the floor. I kick him in the ribs and head a few times until
he lays still. Just another damned kid from the town. I check his
pulse, it is still beating so haven't killed him. I find a cord to bind
his arms and legs together and then sit over him awaiting him to regain
consciousness. He does so after two or three minutes of waiting.

He groans and I kick him in the ribs again.

"What the fuck are you playing at you little fuck?"

"I didn't think anyone lived here."

"Well I do so you'd better come up with a better excuse than that." I
kick him again. He grimaces in pain.

"Please let me go."

"Um.. let me think&;#8230; no."

"Please?"

"No. You broke into my house I'm going to make you pay. DO you havea ny
money on you?"

"Some."

"Give it to me."

"My hands are bound."

"Which pocket is it in?"

"Fuck off!"

I kick him again.

"It's in the back pocket."

I roll him over and reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet.
There is thirty pounds in it, plus a cash card. "What's the pin number
for this?"

"I'm not telling you that."

I kick him again and again and again.

"OK, OK, it's five three six nine."

"Thank you." I check that his bindings are secure and then walk towards
the door. "I'm going to empty your account now. If the pin number is
wrong I'm going to come back here and beat you to within an inch of
your life."

I walk out of the door, down the stairs and back into the street. I
walk towards the town centre. Luckily the garage two minutes walk from
my house has a cash point. I go there, place the card in the slot and
type in the number. Smart kid hadn't lied to me. I check the balance of
the account. There is four hundred pounds in there. I then select
withdraw cash and take it all out. I put it in my pocket and walk back
to my house.

Back inside the house I can see that he has tried to escape his
bindings. I wipe my finger prints off of the card and hand it back to
him. "Thank you. You've stopped me starving for a few weeks." I kick
him a few more times and then place my hands around his throat. "I'm
keeping your wallet and I've got your address now. If you call the
police, I will have you killed. OK?"

"Yes." He whimpers.

"OK?" I shout into his face.

"Yes!" He shouts back.

I untie him and then let him go, back out the way he came, through the
window. I then go to my bed, take the sheet off and use it to cover the
gap in the window. Stupid fucking kid I think to myself. I sit back
down on the sofa and pick my laptop back up to continue writing.