Clowns In My Coffee

Clowns In My Coffee

“ Who is this Rose?” The Gentleman asked me,

She was such a young pretty little thing; it was a real, real shame what happened to our little Rose.
She was a delicate little flower that unfortunately had her petals ripped off her and her body crushed into the dirt, she soon realised if he loved her or loved her not as the song goes.

I remember when I first lay eyes on her through my steamed up sunglasses that I always wore at the gigs.
She made me whip them off just by looking at her, in the midst of all the crowd of identical, robotic woman who all blended into one, she stood out.
The other girls appeared like sadistic sex dolls at one strange perverse adults tea party, yet she seemed pure like an angel in some twisted hell.
She stood still, a bored, emotionless expression upon her picture perfect face; I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
The howling banshees of groupies that jerked around as if they were possessed and we were performing an exorcism, her heart shaped lips glistened but wouldn’t even open slightly, as I strummed the guitar I fantasized about her delicious lips devouring me.
She wore a long carefully conservative dress that hid her petite frame, her hair was short and blonde making her look even more angelic against the darkness of the club.

Our last song was Clays favourite song, it didn’t matter that we all hated it, lead singers have the final say and that was always the way.
It was called “shadow puppets” we all knew half the girls in the room would be his inspiration for it, at that note I saw her disappear into those very shadows.
“ You know that you want me, I can see it all over your body” Clays narcissistic husky whisper seemed to sever every nerve in me as he sang his self-indulgent lyrics.
“ My dirty little puppet so dark and damaged, so easy yet you still know just how to tease me” every smirk he gave the crowd was just another taking me away from my mystery girl.
I played so hard, willing the song to end so much I could actually feel the sticky hot blood against my fingers.

As soon as “Lord” Clay finished his last derogatory line to the blissfully unaware sex zombies, I jumped into the fog after her.
Through the mist they grabbed at my t-shirt, long manicured claws tearing at any piece of flesh they could grab from the “band”

I dragged myself outside the cold Autumnal evening breeze hit me like a hammer, but as soon as I saw her silhouette at the bus stop across the road the pain or the war wounds from inside the club didn’t matter any more.
I nervously walked up to her; she seemed far too perfect to be interested in me.

“ Hi” My weak voice sounded so small and quiet, as it got lost in reality and the big wide world.
She looked up, her eyes were green almost jade in colour
“ Hi” her perfect heart mouth stayed the same shape, even when she smiled, I was lost and with in that second I knew I was in trouble.

Clay could be quite violent when he wanted to be especially if he didn’t get his own way.
I had seen girls run crying from his room, big black Bambie eyes, when they left they didn’t seem so robotic anymore, they seemed crushed and human.
He would stroll into our shared living room,
“ Good morning” Stuart our drummer would break the stone cold ice that hung in the air like bodies at a lynching.
“ There is nothing, good about mornings,” Clay would snarl
Stuart would nervously laugh and Clay would shoot him daggers from his black eyes
“ There is nothing funny about mornings either, now who do I need to kill to get a coffee?” His tone was deadpan serious, we would all just follow him like his groupies, some of us from fear, others because they didn’t want to loose the fame.

“ Who is Rose?”

She was a sweet girl, who looked after her young sister Amelia when her Mother went to work at her second job because her Father had deserted them both and her Mother took to the bottle.
She went to Church every Sunday and would help out at old peoples home every Thursday when she wasn’t working.
She would scrunch her nose up when she laughed and had the cutest dimples; she was a brilliant friend and would listen to everyone.

“ Can I help you?” She nervously giggled, I couldn’t help but laugh myself,
“ Can I marry you?” the words fell out of my mouth and with them I wanted to fall down with them.
“ I cannot believe I said that” I blushed “ I think you’re beautiful” She blushed
“ Thanks” She whispered her green eyes darting to the floor
“ Who are you here with?”
“ I was here with my friend but she seems to have made a new friend” her eyebrows rose almost as if she was embarrassed to tell me what activities her friend had got up to.
“ So now you’re on your own” I stated the obvious before suddenly realising that I sounded a little creepy “ I’m not a weirdo at all and I’m sorry for being really forward but I would really like to take you for a drink, if I could?”
“ What now?” She sounded surprised
“ Why the hell not” I said feeling like 20 men all at once

After months of dating she would tell me about this dream that she had, where she was running and could feel someone chasing her and then she could see her blood stained body limp in the arms of some tattooed demon, she would tell me that the only ghost that was haunting her, was her.

Clay had sat next to her, ran his hand on her leg, his fingers like a spiders leg slowly crawling all over her pure snow white skin. She moved away
“ I don’t think that’s appropriate” she firmly said as she stood up
“ Do you not know who I am?” he said his eyes darting from her head all the way down her bare slender neck, to her perky breasts that seemed to raise and fall from her heart beat which he guessed was racing which excited him. He licked his lips like a serpent hunting its prey ready to strike.
She sensed this and turned for the door, he reached out and grabbed her then long hair and wrapped it round his fist and dragged her to the floor.
Her scream could pierce the night like a dagger tearing through soft flesh
“ No-one can hear you” this statement was untrue but it still wouldn’t help her.

“ Who is Rose?”

One manic Monday, whilst all normal working folk are at their desks out on the beat, working on sites or factories, Clay rises, like some vampire skulks from the shadows for his beloved coffee, which is already for him. He sips at it blissfully guilt free.

“ Who is Rose?” she is a woman scorned and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, she also has thorns as Clay lies coughing, struggling to breath on the floor, she walks up to him looking him dead in the eye.
“ Did you enjoy your coffee?”

“ I don’t want to be another song that he writes about” she said crying to me

Rose is the person that did what we could do, she silenced him and we finally took responsibility for his actions.

“ I don’t know who Rose is Officer” was my reply to the gentleman.

That’s what I want to say, unfortunately I was the one haunted by Rose’s ghost, and my answer was still the same to the officer as he showed me her perfect face on the picture, I looked over to Clay and I knew he was the tattooed demon and would be my nightmare forever, we were just Clowns in his sick circus that poured him his coffee and sang to his tune.