Skarzy (2 page)

3

There was one good roll left in the
dunny. Wasn’t the best kind of toilet paper. Single ply. Unscented. Little
rough. Skarzy could scarcely imagine someone using it to wipe their ass with.

See, could be
worse off okay?

He took the
paper and carefully rolled it around the open gash of his naked leg, reapplying
the ripped up bandage. That was easy enough. He stood by the far mirror where
there was enough light to make out a reflection.

Not looking
good.

Even with his
mouth closed the blood still found a way to trickle out.

He opened it
and spat out the gunk. It ran dark red sinkhole. 

Uughsst.

It wasn’t
gonna be fun trying to keep that down.

He turned the
toilet roll over in his hand.

The bottom
edge of it was covered in a layer of moist condensation –
hiccup
– just
the usual disease ridden shit you might find in the puddles of a public
outhouse…

Skarzy
grimaced and did his best to rip and tear as much of the bad shit out; though
in this light –

Don’t think.
Don’t think. Just get it out.

He pushed out
the cardboard spiel and shoved the rest of it into his mouth.

Ha-ha
he grinned
with mouthful in the mirror.

Settled you
then, didn’t we?

The exit door
beckoned, the station’s dim orange light seeping out beneath the crack.

“The next
train to depart from platform one will be the 10.29 service stopping all
stations to Frankston…”

And just look
at that light then.

Coming up and
under the door with a big fat hello.

He looked down
at his bare genitalia; and took his right sock off.

He tried this
but it didn’t seem to work. Might even be worse. Little footsies getting cold.

“Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

Just a tad
frustrating. He almost collapsed there on the floor.

But then he
saw it.

His guardian
angel.

4

Each passing second was another level
he had to climb over, another key to the song, a separate hell in its own
right, a separate place for things to go wrong. He could see it before him –
this vast horrible matter. A blinding, winding, spiraling black staircase with
hot coals – the time was eight past ten and in between then and the next train
the floor could fall out from him at any time.

Could it
really be any worse?

Skarzy sat
there naked on the cold wooden flattop protruding from the station wall, his
hands on strict rotation, attentively nursing the bandage on his right leg. He
brushed past his pained ankles, where he’d been struck with the chain, back to
the dead centre … a copy of Woman’s Day shoved between his crotch and his backside
as if it were taking a bite…

The hands
looking to the legs, the blowfish cheeks looking to the hands, the eyes closed
in the back of his head…

He could hear
the suburb behind him. The traffic’s steady hum. The occasional door slam.
Whispers and ushers. A scream, followed by a chuckle. The crickets. Short
flashes of music. A plane in the sky.

It was all
going on. Thousands and thousands of people running about their business. They
were here and everywhere. Waiting with each passing second.

The humiliation
would not be quick.

Skarzy opened
his eyes. The sounds faded. The station was empty.

He looked up
to the flashing yellow clock.

10.10pm.

Skarzy was
bored.

He wanted to
get up and walk around. See that there was no one about.

Exercise his
confidence.

Stop fucking
around,
his
mind said.

And then,
What
fucking?

I’m just
sitting here.

God, here
comes the claustrophobia. You’re naked and free and wild and this tension ain’t
enough for you.

Skarzy wanted
to plan. He wanted to think about what laid before him.

But what’s the
point?

Sitting there,
on his ass, in pain, in the cold; not a dumbo about…

He was at the
world’s mercy…

10.10pm.

Oh fuck me.

He looked
down. His pitiful hands adjusting the magazine in perfect place.

What’s the
point? There’s no one to see.
Are you that ashamed?

Why should he
be?

What in fact
has happened?

He knew some
people and … he stole their money and … then he got caught and … then he had to
steal some more and … it didn’t work out and … they ran a muck on him and…

And what?

You gonna cry?

He read the
headlines.

BRIDGET GETS
HER GIGGLE.

DEBBIE MAKES HER
BED.

SUSAN JOGS.

JOANNE!

Hmmmmm…

Intriguing…

He resisted
the urge.

10.11pm.

Now we’re
getting somewhere.

“Hhhhhhh –”

And this is
what laughter sounds like.

Skarzy closed
his eyes. Maybe he could just go to sleep. Forget the troubles. Forget about the
world and their echoes and buzzes. Their sirens. Wailing, wailing, wailing…
They couldn’t send anyone through that station door anyway. The world had run
its muck and had its fill. They send the devil now. The devil and their sirens.
Skarzy would –

“Hhhhhh –”

“Hhhhhh –”

“Hhhhhhhhhhh
–”

So funny … so
funny he could almost go to sleep…

Just had to
relax his heartbeat.

Breathe in
through the nose … and out through the nose…

Except –

SIRENS.

Skarzy sat up.
He could hear footsteps from the gravel. Quickly, quickly, quickly they went. A
distant heavy cough.

And then
nothing.

Skarzy stood
up.

10.11pm.

Come on
train!!!

The station
house door opened. Skarzy quickly reached for the magazine.

“You there!”

The cop was
hurrying over, hand on his radio – or something black anyhow – but the man was
not quite –

Skarzy ran.

“STOP!!!”

The heavy
footsteps were belting the path behind him.

The chase was
on again.

And as Skarzy
plummeted off the platform onto the raw tracks he cried out:

“HHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

But he was
only laughing to himself.

5

The cop was an easy lose. Skarzy
wasn’t even sure if he’d chased him onto the tracks.

No doubt, they were after him – Skarzy
– but even if there had been an eyeball witness at the scene, odds on they
would have described the clothes he was wearing, and any description of any
clothes, wouldn’t cross match with a naked man. Some halved ass research in
play and they would have been able to figure the culprit would have been able
to catch the 10.04 train, and by now they’d be knocking down the doors all the
way to Frankston.

They might
even be eyeballing the trio right now.

Skarzy stopped
for a moment, and gazed back through the jungle bramble to see if the man was
there and saw nothing – this guise of no-clothes had worked like a charm – now
he marched on at a lighter pace.

He looked up
to the moon.

What’s the
time, Mr. Wolf?

Didn’t matter
now.

You could
start his life right here.

He walked for
ten minutes until he heard the sound of an approaching road.

A main road, a
heavy road, to his right.

Something
rural up ahead.

And wastelands
on his left.

Eventually the
clearing came. He stepped onto the lawn like an extraterrestrial emerging from
a fallen spacecraft. He felt that way. It was all new to him. Ten minutes of
walking had cleared his cluttered mind.

Naked.
Speechless. Killer.

It was surreal
in the way it wanted…

There was a
crossroads now.

To the dead
centre straight, a heavy road stretched out before him. Car passed in clusters
of three and four. To the right there were streets leading out to a suburban
community. To his left, the road became dirt and gravel further along between
an empty nothingness of trees. Behind him, the sound of a train emerging,
slowing towards its destination…

The sirens
were gone.

Skarzy’s eyes
squinted, looking for movement. Life.

Somebody.
Anybody.

A specimen.

He saw
nothing. The cars continued to pass.

It was too
open out here. Too many dangers.

The odds were
stacked against him.

In fact … if
he should not be so careful; a police car might happen by…

See how far
your disguise gets you then.

Once it was
clear, he hurried across the road. The pain in his ankles had softened up now –
perhaps the chilly atmosphere was to account for.

That or the
persistent reminder of the volcano in his mouth.

On the other
side of the road he ventured into the path of a lamppost, and saw there was
blood on his fingers. He touched his face again and more blood came. His cheeks
were swelling down.

Both empty
palms came out, catching the droplets as they poured.  Skarzy felt it in his
gut – both hands down there now and him on his knees –

– Mouth
suddenly open –

HHHHEEEEEHHHHHH!!!

That horrible
– grotesque – soggy – crimson red rag was –

HHHHEEEEEHHHHHH!!!

It came out
all over the grass – his hands – his knees –

Hhhhhhhhh…

Not just the
toilet paper and the gushing blood – but food from his gut –

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

There was
probably a few pieces of tongue in there too.

Skarzy sat up.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to roar.

The blood, the
mess, it was everywhere –

And this was
pathetic, just fucking Goddamn ridiculously pathetic…

He looked over
to the Woman’s Day Magazine he strewn over to the side, and reached out to it
deliriously, tearing up the pages and stuffing them in his mouth, till there
wasn’t half a magazine left.

A car pulled
slowly over to the curb.

Squatting,
Skarzy turned over his left shoulder, and met with the headlights.

He couldn’t
make anything out.

A woman’s
voice called from the passenger window.

“Are you
alright?”

Skarzy picked
up what was left of the magazine, to let it snack on his privates, before
standing to face the vehicle.

“Do you need
us to call someone?”

He stood
wavering, cautious.

He heard the
man’s voice in the car.

“My God, the
boy’s naked.”

In a sudden
burst of fury he let go of the mag and let it fly in the wind – forever gone
and lost this shield – and he advanced upon the car, his naked hide for all to
see.

“Can we help
–?”

Skarzy reached
over into the car and unlocked the woman’s door;,his hands already at the lever
before they knew what was what.

“Hhyyaaaaa!!!”
the
woman cried, the door half open.

And his eyes bore
down and she screamed again, he almost touched her before the car shook him
free and sped away.

Skarzy landed
flat on his back. He lay there for a while.

Time passed
and Skarzy had yet to feel the magazine’s pages dissolve in his mouth, not even
a hint of it. He finally stood and dusted himself off; the suburban town
beckoning before him.

The dark blue
and yellow sign read MENTONE and Skarzy stepped on without a word uttered,
smiling all the way.

6

The night went on and the moon was
gradually ascending towards the clouds. He guessed it might be close to eleven.

Houses and
mailboxes and flower gardens and numbers lined the streets before him.

He took the
first left offered, and walked down a street called Redding. He walked a little
faster till he came down an avenue called Marbleton. He jogged down there for a
bit till he found a wider road called Broker. From there he kept on running,
and closed his eyes till he reached the next one.

It was not
long before Skarzy didn’t know where he was.

All this and
not a single person. A couple of cars yeah – the occasional man or woman
venturing into a driveway – but no one on the road. No one out late. Not here.
Not in this community.

Eventually he
stalled. He knew he was building himself up for something.

All these
houses, so oblivious. It would be a fair and random chance to which he would
descend upon.

He spun
around, rotated – so insane and yet so powerful – the numbers ticking by one at
a time – he spun and spun and spun – the centre of the universe was here.

He spun until
he stopped.

Third down on
the right hand side, number 8 Caversham Court. Single story, dark brown oak
wood, two big windows draped with yellow curtains by the porch, purple curtains
by the room beyond that, small cat and dog statues littered in between the
hedges, backyard swinging gate on the right. No cars in the driveway.

No lights on
in the house.

It was dark
tonight.

Skarzy walked towards
the back gate. He tried a couple of times to open it – it was padlocked. Skarzy
scratched his head and looked at the front door. The screen wire wasn’t closed
properly. It flapped about in the wind.

He thought
about knocking on the door to see who might come out.

It could be a
little old lady.

A child, left home
alone.

Or it could a bare
armed, machete swinging, Sanchez Rockerfella, awoken from an LSD trip, ready to
take on the wolves at his door.

When they were
shopping for liquor stores and gas stations they had a better idea of what
they’d be up against. They weren’t looking for weakness in the location. They
were looking at the proprietor. Skarzy had chosen the curry muncher firstly
because he was a man and things could get ugly, and secondly because Skarzy was
a racist.

But knocking
on that door now…

There was no
way to know what was inside.

He could
imagine a hundred things and it would always be different.

At least,
variably.

Skarzy didn’t knock
on the door.

He kept things
simple and jumped the gate.

Once in the
yard, he wondered:

Have I made
things any easier?

He crept round
to the backdoor and tried to open it.

Behold, it was
locked.

“Hhhh.”

He meant to
say
shit.

Suddenly the
outside lights went up, and he was shivering – the garden stripped clean of its
comfortable shroud. He saw this reality and it reminded him of the orange light
under creeping underneath the toilet floor – the cop wandering out at 10.11 – the
man’s disapproving tone as he stood before the car.

Skarzy heard
the backdoor being unbolted, and it reminded him of the sirens.

But this time
he did not run.

A balding man
peered out through the backdoor, at first swiftly, then taking a step back
frightened. There was a moment when he was not looking outside, but at the
ground in morbid disbelief – Skarzy stood still and could see the man was
thinking.

What are you
thinking, old man?

The tide had
taken them here.

Slower this
time, the man peered out…

“Who is
that…?”

He was wearing
a plain white singlet over his belated gut, purple and red striped pants with
no pockets, slippers but no socks. He had obviously been risen from sleep.

Skarzy shook
his head and tried to smile, though with that much magazine in his mouth he
doubted if it came across well. Then he put his arms up despairingly –

I need your
help.

The man
squinted. His voice was much deeper now.

“Go away.”

He slammed the
door and bolted it tightly.

He unbolted it
and then re-bolted it again.     

Skarzy looked
back to the yard. The lights were still up.

He walked out
to the back, and nearing towards the shadows he found the garden shed …
stopped.

Scowled.

What was he
doing?

He slapped
himself once – twice –

– Thrice –

Skarzy was
disorientated. Angry.

He felt so
powerless.

All this way?
he  thought.
All this way and nothing?

Christ, old
man, all I wanted was some clothes.

And some fun.
Yeah…

Skarzy wanted
to have fun.

He opened the
shed door slightly, and looked into the darkness…

There was
probably nothing there.

Skarzy marched
on back through the lawn and the lights went off now, though Skarzy could see
they were still on inside the house.

He jumped the
gate again, and marched over to the man’s front garden…

Not thinking
now he picked up a statue of a dog and pelted it through the nearest window.

Yikes!

Skarzy stood
there paralyzed – the noise crackling through his ribcage and his bowels – the
noise pressing his nostrils together with claw like fingers – the noise in his
eyes and ears and his sweat and his –

The front door
flew open and the man was there roaring like a lion –

In both hands
he carried a weapon –

And without
warning Skarzy fell to his knees as the crossbow ascended –

The lightning
bolt over him, and the lawn and the gravel, and the window –

Click, click,
SNAP.

Click, click,
SNAP.

Skarzy looked
up, his vision hazing.

The man had his
phone out … and was taking Skarzy’s picture.

As if a
starting gun had been fired into the air Skarzy leapt from the ground, and flew
across to the porch where the man stood, his feet seemingly in midair all the
way…

(Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

Skarzy’s hands
around his neck…

(Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

… the phone smashes
to the ground broken…

(Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

… and the two
men along with it.

“Aaaaaarrrrggghhh!
What –?”

The old man
was choking.

“What’s your
–?”

He was
coughing and spluttering.

“What’s your
problem –?”

Skarzy opened
his mouth to answer, and the world came along with him.

HHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIUUUUUUUUUUUUU

It was all
coming out now.

The magazine.
The blood. The vomit.

All over the
old man’s face.

Skarzy looked
into his eyes as it went on.

It was fear.
It was terror. He recognized it well.

Once the
regurgitation was over, Skarzy held his bare hands tightly around the man’s
neck, held his grip there and shook it, without a moment’s hesitation now…

Skarzy held
the man there until the fear in his eyes was gone.