A Street of Rooms

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 13, 2017

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Submitted: August 13, 2017

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A Street of Rooms

By

Ahmad El Hefny

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Martin Mason, or M as he’s called by his pals, made his presence known in the motel a little earlier. Desperate times call desperate measures, and so the motel has been also fused with a rundown cinema that would serve the casual Friday releases, along with the occasional slips of the Video Nasties.

 The first sight to catch his attention was Spike, in his black suit and white fedora hat, standing on the stage with the light beaming on him, turning Mason and others into shadows.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen

It’s quiet out there, as it is every now and then

 The pub was filled with the same old familiar faces: Billy the Crow, one of the blacks’ worst nightmares. A Christian at heart, (at least, that’s how he sees it) who can’t quote thanks to his dyslexia.

The poor are still crying, the rich are no longer laughing

But why that case, nobody is telling

 He was busy playing cards with his pal, Angel Jefferson. His real name is Angelica, but don’t tell him that. Otherwise, his mom would still be around. He still remembers all that taunting after all these years, that he no longer remembers her name. On the bright side, he puts that frustration to good use, always watching your back with a gun in his pocket, and his switchblade coming for somebody’s eye, a new piece for his collection.

Even when the housewives gossip, she says

“Johnny can now walk”

But the side effect of the light rays?

Boys, I don’t want to hear that kind of talk

 Michelle West was wearing her long gloves yet again. Though it suits her black dress perfectly, she had an excuse to wear them. All the ignorant ones would be awed and horrified by the concept of this young woman with such a face that owns disfigured hands that would make doctors blush and veterans cry.

Mary, Mary, where have you been all this time?

“Don’t worry, sweetheart; I’ll be just fine”

 Serving behind the tables, was good ol’ Gregory Kaufman. A very nice guy, even if he is not a conversationalist. But that doesn’t matter; what matters is that what he did, no matter how small or crazy it was, stayed with you, and by God, even to the biggest brain and muscle around here, Gregory was the boss.

And the boys became the best of men when they grew up

Got their weddings scheduled, and setting plans too

But they knew who the man of the house was. “We miss you, Pup”

When Mum fixes the ties at the ceremony, she says “I love you.”

 Tonight’s film was The Black Cat, starring Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, and it’s an adaptation of the Edgar Allan Poe tale. M remembers that name. Read some of his stories way back, when he was just another kid. The Tell-tale Heart and The Masque of the Red Death got to him.

The sleaze balls upstairs call themselves patriots, Americans

At least, down here, a crime we don’t make is lie

We don’t play facade, from Russians to Italians

We just live the best we can, then move on and die

He decides to go to his room before the picture starts. After that, it’s the last thing he’ll do today.

“Come what may”

They always say

Believe it or not, that’s true

Especially when all revolves around you

But that’s only what you believe

You are among others who get it quite cheap

 He comes back, bids the others good night, and waits. He sits next to Jane Russell, or Blondie, as they used to call her mother, now passing her face to her junior. Meanwhile, in silence, seated in front of a pitch black screen, M could still hear the voice echoing in the distance like a whisper.

Just like the transition from sun to moon

You go home and cross your street of rooms

It always seems impossible until it is done

What’s that? That’s up for you to decide, hon.

 

The End


© Copyright 2017 ahmad ehab el hefny. All rights reserved.

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