This Strange Hell – Chapter 1
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A Solitary Man
The suited man dashed through the dark Melbourne streets as the building burned behind him.
The heat of the flames could still be felt on the parts of his skin not covered by crisp navy attire. Sirens echoed into the night, approaching. Shadows danced across the concrete jungle, mocking the man as he searched for an escape from the crackling tower.
The man used tight alleyways to navigate away from the chaos, the smell of rubbish and old piss an alternative to the accusatory eyes of late-night pedestrians. Rats scurried alongside the man, urging him onward, joining his army of the damned. And then as planned he broke out onto a street so populated that he differed not from the rest of the Friday night creepers.
Beneath a neon sign advertising beer and cheap thrills, the man assessed his clothing. Knees had blackened, shoes were scuffed with white lines and his jacket was charred at the shoulder and breast. He removed his suit jacket and walked along the street, disposing of the expensive clothing in a dumpster when a break between spotlights shrouded his activity.
“Can I have that?” asked a homeless man, sticking a bearded head out from a blanket on the pavement. The man nodded and continued walking, wishing he had a beard to cover his face in mystery. He stole a leather jacket hanging from a chair outside a kebab shop, no soul noticing the crime. His hair, in a bun atop his head, began to fray as the strands attached to thick beads of sweat. Cars raced by at sickening speeds despite free bodies swaying on the road, neither human nor machine paying attention to the traffic signals. The man searched for a yellow vehicle, and then stuck his hand out when a sedan appeared unoccupied. The car stopped, and as he moved his arm a split formed at the shoulder.
“Where to?” asked the taxi driver, his window down. A strange odour wafted out of the gap, but the smell of burning building still dominated the man’s senses.
“As far away from here as we can get.”
The driver nodded, and the man escaped the street. Without asking, the man closed the window.
“We can’t go down town, some building is blazing. Heard it on the news, saw it with my own eyes, sir I did.”
The man shrugged.
“Happens all the time. Just take me an hour north.”
The driver raised an eyebrow.
“I need a destination, sir…”
The man’s pupils darted, the ever-watchful eyes of the Melbourne night accusing him of a long list of crimes. A teenager slammed both hands on the bonnet of the taxi and puked a vile green substance across the windscreen, chunks of decay taunting the driver. He opened his door and threw his hands in the air, drawing attention to the vehicle and those in the vicinity. The man evacuated as a pair of youths grabbed the driver and tossed him onto his drenched bonnet, a waterslide to asphalt.
The man could see the black plumes of smoke against the midnight sky, a darkness unchallenged. He could feel the heat, remember its power, surrender to its touch. In a swell of bodies, he felt something hard in his jacket pocket. He withdrew the pink lighter and dropped it onto concrete, crushing the firefly beneath his shoe.
The competition for a taxi was too fierce, and the man could not use an Uber. He needed an escape from this madness. Scores of tipsy heads wobbled down the stairs to the underground train station. The man followed.
“That’s my fucken jacket,” roared a deep voice, “my fucken jacket ya bastard!”
The man used his sober feet to descend the steep stairs and manoeuvre through the flailing limbs. He was thin, which assisted in the movement; but he was also tall, and his head popped up amongst most. When he reached the platform, a hand reached out and grappled the collar of the jacket. Fists followed, but the man had already faced his fight tonight. He twisted out of the jacket and waded through the overwhelming heat of the mob, feeling exposed without some form of protection atop his white shirt. The man slipped into the disabled bathroom and collapsed onto the toilet, wondering if his own vile green substance would fountain from within his stomach.
With burning arms, the man lifted himself onto his feet and stared in the mirror. One of his ears was black from the smoke, a cut above his right eye had smeared a horizontal line of blood across his eyelid and he could smell burnt hair. He turned on the tap and washed his face thoroughly, hoping to erase all memory from the night, the screams of the dying and the thuds of those who jumped from twenty storeys high.
A thundering roar from outside the door signalled an arriving train. The man had no idea where the transport would take him. He dashed out onto the platform and launched into the train, managing to find a seat facing opposite all entry points. His body shivered not from the cold, but from the exposure. The man removed his rubber band and let the dark locks fall free, covering the singed ear and cut brow. Not until the train moved did he look up.
“Look at this, they are saying fifty people dead.”
“I heard seventy. Surely nobody could survive that.”
“Watch this man’s head explode on impact…wait…wait…there it is!”
The voices were of a volume that rapped on his skull. Every passenger had their phone in hand, witnessing the horror that occurred down town. Some covered their mouths with hands, others wiped at tear-streaked faces, and pockets of drunken youths smiled at the delight of death in proximity. They pushed their closest ally to watch a seven-second video of death. The screen became a gateway into the burning building, the flames dancing off the faces of the viewers. The man realised he was the only passenger without a phone in hand. He withdrew his Smartphone, turned it off and ejected the sim card. With all eyes on mayhem, he snapped the card between his fingers and tucked the remains into the gap between seats. He then stared at his black screen, not needing a feed to see the candle-like faces of the dead.
“My brother lives there!” shrieked a female no older than sixteen, a red Vodka Cruiser attached to her palm. “Let me off, let me off!”
She banged on the doors of the train, red sugary substance spilling down her arm and onto the floor like a steady stream of bright blood. Each hit increased in force, her eyes white with fear. Losing her footing against the wetness beneath, the female smashed the glass against the handrailing and caused a shower of shards to spray across the hearty travellers. One of the youths from the group enjoying the show on the screen shielded his face, and then approached the white-eyed female.
“You got glass in my fucking eye, you slut.”
“Fuck off, my brother is in there,” she protested, waving her phone at the youth. He wore a blue bandana over his throat like a German Shephard and had slits cut into his eyebrows.
“I don’t care.”
He snatched her phone, opened the door to the next carriage and tossed the sparkling rectangle out into the night. She wailed, dropped to the floor and slammed her head repeatedly against the railing. Two males from her group charged at blue bandana like bulls to red, and the train descended into an organism of punches and kicks. The man moved closer to the door and found a way out at the next stop, slipping on the red substance and almost falling onto the tracks. A hand reached out and grabbed his forearm, and he winced.
“Steady brother,” said a woman with a shaved head. The man nodded.
When she walked away, the crowd followed her direction to a row of trams curtained by buildings. The man slowly rolled back his left sleeve to notice a blotchy burn mark seeping yellow ooze. He quickly curled the white sleeve back to his hand and continued onwards. The next train arriving in four minutes was an express line to a town he had never heard of. The man tossed his phone onto the tracks, emptied his wallet into the nearest bin and crossed his arms in wait.
His black hair veiled his face.
His dark eyes veiled his heart.
