"On the Streets" piece. Alfie Kelly
As the dark awaited the dawn, the first signs of human life flickered in the baleful night. The commuters had awoken; rising to venture to their early starting jobs in the central area of the city. The light of the day had long since ebbed and dwindled to nothing, the air was cooler and damper than it had been in the more "sociable" hours. In the sweet rain-washed darkness the sounds of the night became loud in the ears, even the rustling of the leaves and the whisper of the wind was thunderous. You could easily claim that in the absolute blackness of this twilight world it was possible to hear a beetle in the deep earth.
Situated in the doorway of a city outskirts off licence was a frail shadow. The ominous figure was cramped right up against door frame, resting his head against the cold, metal shutter. With nothing but torn rags and an oversized coat for clothing, it shivered. After the city street lamps had suddenly flickered into life, the being became visible. His gaunt face and ghostly eyes was the only things that could be seen, as he was shielding his bare skin from the cold. Fashioning a thick scruffy beard coupled with a greasy mane of hair, you could tell he was in a atrocious state of health. This state of disrepair looked as if it had accumulated over a prolonged length of time. Down by his side laid a small satchel, which bared a few personal belongings. Sown into the bag's pocket, in bold, fluent text, was the name "Bjorn". "Bjorn" began to examine the atmosphere, feeling and experiencing all the possible senses. The night's faint aroma left him in daze of reminiscence, a lingering hint of burning fluttered in the atmosphere. He began to slowly drift off into a slumber. His haunting eyes started to slowly close and he was beginning to dream...
..."Bjorn! Your brother! He's still inside!"...
The nightmare was always the same. Paralyzed, detached, useless. The fire devoured the fuel in a flash of scorching flames and soon began to burn the furniture it had been daubed on. Thick black clouds of smoke choked the air. The fire alarm stood uselessly on the counter as the fire would be too quick, too ferocious for the fire fighters to get there in time. In the morning the house would be ash.
I couldn't breathe, nor could I hear even the simplicity of my heart racing in my chest. I was only able to watch everything burn around me without action. What was once beautiful wilted and cracked under the ferocity of the flames, turning to ash and dust. my struggling began to cease. I did not have the energy to even keep my head from drooping to the floor any longer. I could not escape the intense heat of the flames as it slowly creeped to me. I wanted to scream, ever so badly, but there was no use. It was inevitable.
The homeless man arouse from his dark dream violently, gasping for the air he had lacked in his recurring night terror.