Joseph Keyes - Journal Entry #001

Joseph Keyes. A leper among the headstones. Hey, well, isn’t this therapeutic. I haven’t written a word in months upon months, and now I remember why. I always thought I could pull worlds out of my head and scrawl them onto paper when the time came. What really happens is last night’s blood on the pavement, ugly directionless blotches on my paper sooner forgotten. Aspiring, synonymous with inadequate. But now let me backtrack a bit. Sorry, but she tells me I shouldn’t think about what I’m writing. But who am I apologising to? Tomorrow’s spectre, the one who’ll never read these words? Late evening, pissing rain. I’m jogging down this street to nowhere in particular, just trying to find shelter of some kind, when I glimpse some young guy in a hood coming the opposite way. It’s practically matte grey out there, it’s that heavy. He’s not watching where he’s going, he bumps into me. He’s one slick fucker, I don’t even suspect anything until he’s halfway down the other side of the street. Sure enough, my wallet is absent from my coat pocket - I haven’t met many who’ll work the streets in weather like that, but I still drop into a blind rage with myself for my naivety. I slip between a couple of parked cars on my way after him, and screech-thud, I’m sprawled in one of those low points, life’s jarring left hooks, in front of a big Merc saloon. One second, two seconds, nothing broken, nothing ruptured, I drag myself unsteadily back to my feet by that fucking pretentious metal star on the bonnet head. I rip it off and fling it across the road, skipping and bouncing into a gutter. Then I start after my thief again, no hope of catching him now but heaven help him if I do-
   “Are you alright?” a woman’s voice. I keep going.
   “Wait,” she says, without raising her voice. The imploring quality of the word stops me. I turn, and whatever was to come next dies on her lips.