khunsanuk Posted May 2, 2012 Report Share Posted May 2, 2012 Six Precious Hours THE BANGKOK sun beat down on Jack forcing him to wake up and face another day. The six precious hours from midnight to dawn were a blessing. His place wasnâ€™t much. It was close to the BTS. It was underneath it. The sky-trains flew overhead every four minutes during rush hour. He had six hours of silence when the trains stopped running at night. That was his writing time. He wrote short stories and he had an idea for a novel. Those six hours were beautiful. He had a story. A backpacking trip that turned into a nightmare. Beggary. Life imitates art. Some people travelled to find themselves. Others travelled because they didnâ€™t want to be found. Jack lived under the bridge. He thought back to that evening. He had been drinking heavily with his Danish girlfriend Anna with a gang of locals in a back-street karaoke bar. Things had gotten out of hand. Bangkok Dangerous. There was something in his drink that made him count sheep. It was all in the notes for the novel. He never saw her again. She had left him. He woke up with an empty wallet and only the streets for company. The days slid into weeks and the weeks into months. He had a routine of sorts. Sleep. Beg. Sleep. Think. Write. Sleep. Sometimes the donations were generous. But generally the Thais couldnâ€™t understand why a foreigner would need to beg. All westerners were rich. The tourists did their best. Oftentimes Jack would not pick up a single satang during the rush hour. He stole pens from seven-eleven and wrote on discarded food cartons. That morning he saw an angel. She had white skin and wore a white dress. She reminded him of Anna. She seemed to glow, lightening up the Bangkok sidewalk. â€œWhat have you done to deserve this?â€ The strange woman said. â€œWhat brought you here?â€ Jack didnâ€™t know the answer, or at least he couldnâ€™t think of anything specific. She was younger than thirty and was the most beautiful creature that he had ever seen. â€œFate,â€ he said. As an aftethought he said. "I'm a writer." â€œWhat can I do to help you?â€ She said. Her lips were full and her eyes were blue pools of human kindness. Jack thought about diving into those pools, but he would drown. He had never been a good swimmer, keeping afloat was the best he coud hope for. â€œA shower, a meal, a bed...,â€ Jack mummered. â€œOf course you poor creature, come with me,â€ She leaned over and took Jack by the hand. He stood up followed her to a townhouse. â€œIt is not much, but I call it home,â€ She smiled. â€œMy name is Carina. I work for an NGO.â€ Her accent was hard to place, yet it reminded him of home. They walked through a hallway into a living area with futons and low tables. There was modern paintings of Bangkok city scenes hung on the walls. A bronze Buddha meditated beside a row of guidebooks on a wall-mounted shelf. â€œThank you,â€ he said and then dissolved into a comfortable sofa. His eyes closed. He had a dream.He was inside an old house and had unearthed a secret inside of a box. He awoke confused but happy. That evening she cooked a rich stew. They washed it down with a Chilean red. Jack relaxed on the sofa as they watched the Thai soap dramas together. Neither of them understood the complexity of the plot or the anguish of the characters. It was another world. It was midnight when she said. â€œI only have the one bed. Tonight I can let you sleep there until we find somewhere more suitable for you tomorrow.â€ â€œWell, that sounds fine.â€ They went up to the bedroom. â€œwhy donâ€™t you get out of those filthy clothes,â€ Carina said softly. She pointed towards the bathroom and Jack walked inside. It was heaven. Jack rubbed the strawberry-scented gel all over his body. The lather was thick and invigorating. He had not felt this good since... well since it happened... He washed his hair with coconut shampoo and felt his life turn around. He sprinkled baby-powder onto his aching body, dried himself and wrapped a towel around his waist. In the bedroom Carina was wearing purple briefs and a purple bra. Her attire confused and exited him. Her generous breasts were spilling out from her brassiere. Jack sat on the bed and looked directly at her. She took the two steps towards him and grabbed him by the back of the neck, kissing him passionately before throwing him back onto the bed. Jack closed his eyes and felt his wrists being tightened. He had only seen this in movies, he opened his eyes to see Carina panting above him. He felt his ankles being tightened to the foot of the bed. And then she gagged him. She took off her shirt and bra. It had been so long. The last person was... â€œYou like that donâ€™t you, Jack.â€ He hadnâ€™t told her his name. She had't asked. â€œYouâ€™re one sick boy alright, Jack. No wonder youâ€™re living rough.â€ Jack tried to speak. He tried to place the voice, the face, it was useless. His heart hammered against his ribcage. He felt sick. He could taste the stew in his stomach. â€œIf she hadnâ€™t of gone on that holiday with you she would still be back at home. My sister. My best friend, Jack. You took her away from me. And now I am going to show you how it feels to lose something...â€ Jack looked at Carina. She was smiling. The resemblance sickened him. Anna had spoken about a sister, he hadnâ€™t met her. He could see it all now. The resemblance was frightening. Carina reached over to the bedside cabinet and opened a drawer. She pulled out a pair of poultry sheers and waved them at him. The sharp metal reflected the ceiling lights. â€œDo you know what they did to her? Of course you donâ€™t, you ran away and left those monsters to rape her and then cut her up. Some fucking boyfriend you are, Jacky boy. They took her apart piece by bloody piece.â€ â€œMmmmm.Mmm.Mm,â€ Jack tried to scream. â€œThese blades are sharp, Jack. I brought them all the way from Copenhagen. Always best to have the right tools for the job, donâ€™t ya think?â€ â€œMmmmm. Mmm. Mmmm â€œRelax Jack. I came a long way to do this. Letâ€™s not rush things. I want to do my very only Jack the Ripper show. Dedicated to Anna. What do you think about that?â€ â€œMmmmmm. MMmmmm. MMMmm.â€ A sky-train flew overhead and lit up the window. Then Jack heard the sound of the sheers closing and tearing at a lump of flesh. Then the sound of laughter. He could not bring himself to open his eyes. It was late. Outside the rush hour traffic was reduced to a tiny audible hum. Six precious hours. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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