Through Lens, Sense and Pretense

“Hardened criminal’s murder attempt foiled”

Sorry for haphazard posting. This is the question submitted to me and my response is in the previous post.

Hallo! Thanks for the question. The title of the story will give you the answer to your question. First, the guy himself is under the misconception that all women are the same. Those who are prone to such sweeping generalisations tend to also change their mind very easily. The second misconception is the one I intend the reader to make, i.e that the man has indeed had a change of heart. It does sound incredibly KJo like, that’s meant to draw your attention to the absurdity of his change in heart. The woman turning out to be something else entirely in the end serves to show him how wrong he is for having such a monochromatic view of the world but it is the final misconception, my own, for he reaches for his wallet and just reverts to his original opinion. Hope that answers your question. I have one of my own though. Why the anonymity? I don’t bite :)

Summer always brought with it a tinge of ennui to him. It reminded him of the days he used to spend as a teenager free from school and its chaotic confines, preferring to drown himself in cheap booze, cigarettes and pornography in the basement. His parents didn't care much. Dad was too busy eyeing the maid with a lustful eye every morning as mum pretended not to notice, waiting to have the house to herself so she could make a phone call to acquire the services of a youthful boy who'd caught her fancy after being introduced at a gaudy party. In a family of means, money was the answer to all problems, where personal secretaries and man whores changed with the channel on the TV. A young boy's descent into debauchery only fit the bill instead of raising concern. He waded through the magazines before settling on one of his old favourites. The platinum blonde with tits the size of her own head spread eagled on the bed, her eyes suggesting only one thing. Her smile looked a bit forced, like she would rather be doing something or someone else. But he had long since become desensitised to such subtleties. A day full of lazing and self pleasure awaited and then, the night. The nights were much more active. Hot sidewalk cooled under the moon after an intense day of heat as the neon glow of the uptown locales began to light up. The night was reserved for his other hobbies. He was 16 when he felt that now familiar urge. That insatiable hunger that returned to him no matter how many times he counted tired strokes of his increasingly numb hand. He needed contact, a visceral satisfaction. Five years later, the feeling was as strong as ever. First, drinks with the rest of the gang would set the tone nicely as they surveyed the place, looking for the night's entertainment. They'd all zero in on her. Her slight frame slowly shedding the weight of the standards she judged the world to have placed on her. The young, freshman college girls were the best. A new city, a new life, less authority and they decided to be the biggest sluts they could be. He almost felt righteous as he thought of himself as the liberator of these inferior creatures' outmoded, in the box thinking. They identified their target every time with surgical precision. Maybe she's the just about above average looker, seeking a little fun after sampling a bit of the ego massage that came free with college. Maybe she was the pretty girl from the suburbs, unsure of how best to take compliments and please everyone. She could just be some neo liberal opinionated little slut who thinks she's taken off a set of blinkers with the very idea of college. They all fell into closed categories in his view. Once they knew who they'd picked, they'd take it in turns to go up and grind, maybe cop a feel. One of them could always get slapped but not him. He always treated them with such disdain. It seemed to induce a sense of slavishness, he liked to think. Subservience was but natural to them, he believed. They represented nothing more than a slightly more difficult means to the same end. Nihilism was his credo and he its most dedicated exponent. And the women ate it all up. His bedcovers we're revolving doors of single serving pleasure. Life was good. These bitches were all the same. ******** He cleaned up the mess he'd just made and decided to have an extra good night. Checked his wallet, contraception at the ready and all the case he would need to get the tightest bitch drunk enough to unfold her legs at his command. He checked his hair once and combed it carefully to achieve that perfect, carelessly untidy but attractive look. The pub was fuller than usual and the boys hadn't arrived yet. He decided to do a little scouting in advance. Short one in an even shorter dress at the bar. Clearly waiting for someone but he had no doubts he could cut in. A long limbed mass of whirling hair and coloured nails on the dance floor, she was already probably ready for him to work his magic right now. A tired looking cougar in a cocktail dress and heels too high for her aching feet. Not the hottest, not guaranteed to give you the night's bragging rights but would probably be open to the wilder stuff. And then he spotted her. Her back was turned to him. Slim, long tresses of black hair adorning a figure that could reduce grown men to tears, she stood against the balcony, smoking a long, thin cigarette. He grabbed his pack and headed out with a lighter. Casually sidling along the railing, he came closer until he could see her front. She was on the phone. The cigarette hung loosely from his lips as he simply stared at her. She was perfect. If ever there was a face that humanity could give to represent itself, this was it. A face that would probably never age, with arching cheekbones and a skin so smooth it belied reality, she looked impossibly beautiful. For a second, he felt an intense rush of blood to the head. How could he have been so wrong about life and women, he wondered. There was no way someone so perfect could ever be one of the stupid bitches he kept taking back home. He wanted at once to have his presence acknowledged and yet not be discovered immediately. He watched as she spoke to someone on the phone and felt a tinge of instant jealousy, wondering who she was talking to. The world had no purpose for him but to make her happy. It was powerful, intense, heady. It was pervasive and fleeting at the same time. He found an unimaginable sense of respect and appreciation coursing through him. Clearly such beauty could only be the byproduct of divine design. He has been looking at everything wrong. He would change his perspective and his whole life, starting now. This was the woman of his dreams and he could now rest no longer without doing all that shit he used to pretend being interested in during his previous hunts. He felt a physical ache as he pictured holding her close and feeling her heart beat as they soaked up a silence pregnant with understanding. His heart knew longing now. His world knocked askew, he walked up to her, resolving to be the best he had ever been; earnest, forthright and a true gentleman. She turned around and smiled. "Hello handsome, if you've got the cash I can make it worth your time. You'll be begging for more tomorrow morning!", she said with a suggestive wink. He reached into his pocket to extract his wallet as his mind crashed back down to earth. These bitches are all the same, he thought.

A soft breeze played across my face as I walked along the pavement in the windy evening. It was that time of the year when the weather couldn't predict itself, thundering torrents of rain in the morning and bright sunshine that same afternoon. I looked up, hoping to be spared of any downpour. The clouds didn't look too heavy. This part of the city was beautiful. The traffic and smoke were long gone as the value of the land plummeted. Dusty roads took veering turns around muddy dirt grounds sprinkled with equally dusty children playing. The unforgettable aroma of the local tea stall eventually wafted in my direction, pulling me toward it. I sat on the stone slab taking in the simplicity. The rustic beauty of what nature had partially reclaimed with its patches of shrubbery and the odd hardy tree here and there contrasted with the din of the concrete jungle hardly a half hour's walk away.  These were the streets I grew up playing on. Granted, they were a little cleaner then but there wasn't any city noise and construction either back then. I heard the familiar tune of the man who sold plastic knick knacks on his bicycle playing on his cheap little harmonica as a smile formed on my lips and I closed my eyes in remembrance. It was almost 6 o' clock. Mother would've been shouting for me to come back home before it got dark by now. Those were the days alright. Why, it was during one of those summer days that I first saw her, hair askew, searching for seashells in the sand leftover from the new bungalow's construction. She was something else, I knew it even then. We belonged to the few families who didn't move out until well after the construction of all the new corporation buildings had completed. And by then, she was mine as I was hers. I remembered her complaining about having to move house all the way across the city and chuckled to myself. The stubborn, lovable fool. In a way, the area was slowly returning to what it used to look like, though I wish the reasons behind it were different.  I turned my attention back to her, the stupid woman had thrown a tantrum. Of course, it was what she referred to as "being put off by the airs I put on" (she had a way with words, a way full of broken glass and metaphors but a way nonetheless and I loved her for it). I'll win her back. I always do. I checked my watch again to confirm that it was Tuesday, she always spoke to her chrysanthemums on Tuesday. Said it helped them grow. I bought one from the little girl selling them on the road and let her keep the change.  I'll win her back. She's got to listen to reason and she'll realise soon enough that I wasn't being stubborn, just irritable after a long day at the tennis courts. The chrysanthemum would probably do the job, although she'd probably find a way to complain about that too.  The sun was hurrying up its descent as the soft glow of the street lights illuminated the dusty road. The old man cut a lonely figure as he shuffled down the path. He placed a single chrysanthemum on the bombing memorial as a solitary tear ran down his cheek. "Some day, I'll come there and win you back."

July 14, 2015. Pyongyang was no longer recognisable. Ruins stood where large statues and imposing government buildings previously towered. The North Korean leaders were rumoured to be in Beijing, granted asylum by the Chinese who didn't seem to let the demolition of Korea dampen their enthusiasm for war. Evacuation drills became the norm throughout the world. The UN no longer held any meetings discussing sanctions or bans. That time had long since passed.  Dr. Akers expounded to his new lab assistant, an eager young individual, something of a rarity these days.  "Two days ago, a small group of ants from the top half of the tank wandered into a newly built chamber for larvae of the other species. They massacred the young and were eventually discovered and killed by the enemy soldier ants. This seems to have sparked several different skirmishes amongst the two species at different points in the tank. This is quite remarkable." The assistant was taking notes on her tablet at lightning speed, her hands a blur. And then the sun was blacked out. An eerie green glow bathed everything outside. People ran out to the streets, finding the horizon awash with radiation. Had the unthinkable happened? Television sets around the country showed nothing but static, cell phone signals were jammed. In Paris, the solitary, eastern base column of the Eiffel Tower fell to the ground in a burning heap. There was a sense of finality to it but also a sense of foreboding. Like the first in a set of dominoes, it crashed into the earth. The worst fears of mankind had come true. The smouldering embers of what was left of Paris was viewed by the intergalactic being with great interest through the lens of his cosmic microscope. He turned to his brother, the scientist. "Maybe it's because they have nothing else to do. Why don't you throw in a little bit of food?"

He walked out of the door and took out a pair of sunglasses from his inside pocket as the glare of the recently risen sun hit him. It had been one hell of a night.

"Strange taste for a distinguished looking man." "Hardly, those clothes were cheap suiting, common among the riff raff that roam the streets, trying to look classy. I doubt he paid anything for those, probably found them in the trash." "You can tell him that when he comes back.", I laughed, thinking what a snob this woman must be. Clearly she was on a horse higher than the old fellow, probably thought of him as one of those "noveau rich" buggers the old crowd despised. "I don't think so. He leered at me, showed me a ring he simply couldn't have afforded and got down two stops ago."

He walked on in the rain, wondering if the downpour would ever stop long enough for him to keep a cigarette lit. God, he could use a drag or two right now. He looked around the wet and sodden surroundings. Mud spattered relentlessly as the rain pummeled the flimsy roads and pavements covered in the dust and sand of a parched summer gone by as the landscape was covered in a darkness from a sun that set long ago. The rains had taken their time to come and made up for lateness with a ferocity seldom seen by the residents of the city.  The street looked deserted. He plodded on resiliently, searching for some sort of shelter from the cruel wind that was now extending an icy finger into his very bones through his drenched clothes. Finally, he saw a building with an open porch and no light. He hastened over to get some relief from the torrent of water thundering in from the sky. He let out a sigh of contentment as he lit and puffed deeply from a crumpled-looking cigarette. He didn’t notice the silhouette walking towards him from the other side of the street. She walked with determination and purpose. Her poise suggested someone who wasn’t prone to taking things lightly. She had a package to deliver and by God, no amount of silly rain would stop her from reaching the destination by the next day. The stupid cabbies refusing to drive because of a little precipitation didn’t understand her. Couldn’t they perceive how important her work was?  She walked on until she came to the building’s porch. The building was an oddity. A tall megalith in the midst of several residential houses that it dwarfed. The houses wore a deserted look and had sign boards which indicated that they were in the ownership of the kind of wealthy businessman who probably filed them away under “tax reasons”. A beautiful motif of roses was painted against a background of white on three sides of the building. The entrance side however, was of stark concrete; unadorned, unkempt and probably abandoned. A little doorway to the left of the porch was barred by a steel grille. There was a little part of the same rose motif that looked like it had been started and the painter stopped his work halfway through. She stopped in her tracks and stared at the man smoking a cigarette as he too let out a slow puff while staring at her sudden appearance. Neither had expected any human contact for the rest of the night. “Sorry to bother you but have you got a vehicle of some sort?”, she asked. “Nope. I’m stuck here.” “I suppose I am too, then.” “I suppose.” She eyed him warily as he took another drag from his crumpled cigarette. He looked presentable enough but for his filthy smoking habit. He had already put her out of his mind and was wondering about where he would sleep for the night. The storm looked like it would only worsen and not blow over until the morning and he eyed the rising flood of water on the pavement with a look of concern. Then, he spotted the door and the grille. The woman looked sturdy enough to help him and the grille was probably extremely old and rusty. “Hey listen, d’you mind helping me try to open that grille over there? I think there might be place to sleep upstairs.” “That’s not a bad idea.” The grille did look very old and rusty but proved surprisingly strong as they heaved at it with their combined strength. Finally, on their third effort, the hinges gave way and the grille slowly lurched forward, crashing onto the floor in a huge din that rang through the stairs inside, echoing endlessly. “That was loud.” “It sure was.” “Would you mind putting out that thing? It gives me a bad cough.” “I’m sorry but it’s my last one, I won’t have peace if I don’t finish it.” He took another deep puff and went through the door. The room was dark and smelled of wet cement and urine. The stench was overwhelming. She walked in with a handkerchief to her nose and immediately tripped with a little shriek on a dead rat half immersed in the concrete. The room looked like it was recently constructed. Maybe work had only just stopped, he reasoned as he helped her up. “Are you alright?” “Yes, I think so.” “Good, let’s go upstairs.” They began climbing the stairs as dim moonlight filtered through a ventilator from a crack in the dense cloud cover. He stopped dead as he heard a muffled noise echo from the upper stairs. She had heard it too.  “What do you think that is?” “Probably the wind causing something to fall on the terrace.” “Probably.” More noises. They could discern voices as they strained to listen to the sounds growing fainter by the second. “D’you think there’s someone upstairs?” “It’s possible. Maybe someone lives here. Squatters. Or even the construction workers.” “This building doesn’t look like it’s seen construction for ten years.” “Probably squatters. These homeless people can be a real bother.” They kept climbing as they reached what looked like another doorway. The muffled voices continued every now and then in varying degrees of intensity. He took a deep puff from his cigarette as she pointed at the wall adjacent to the doorway.  “Look, roses.” “Yes, recently begun work, by the looks of it.” They both groaned simultaneously in dismay to discover another huge grille barring the door.  He was irritated, his last cigarette was almost over. He took another large puff. “Would you stub that out please? It’s nauseating!” He gave a grunt as he ignored her and proceeded to the doorway. To his surprise, the grille opened quite easily. She stepped in front and opened the door slightly as they peered into the room beyond, wondering if they would find anybody in there. This room was exactly like the one they were looking in from, complete with a staircase going back down. A strong sense of deja vu overpowered him. He felt dizzy and light headed as all sense of reason left his mind. Two figures suddenly ascended the staircase and walked into the room. One took a deep puff from a crumpled-looking cigarette as the other raised a pointed arm towards the door. “Look, roses.”