My Eyes Bleed Silver

"These idiots are wasting my time," thought the ruggedly handsome man in the leather vest. The thick black hair on his head and bare chest swayed in the wind as he stood over the unconscious, old woman. The handsome figure searched the woman's housedress for anything of value: cash, cards, keys, a cell phone. Hell, he'd take a butterscotch as a victory at this point.

The striking figure found nothing, kicking the lifeless lump of flesh in frustration. "Oy!" he screamed to the house being ransacked behind him. "Find anything yet?!"

A weathered face peered through the second story window. "Shut it, ya'fuck!" the thief whispered. "Be out in ten."

"Ten...", muttered the handsome man to himself. "Ten minutes... its been bloody thirty, ya'lazy fucks!"

In the darkness of the cool Brisbane evening, the gorgeous yet garrulous fellow scanned the area for anything to occupy his time for the next ten minutes.

The rural outskirts of the lush subtropics surrounded the house. Even the footpath through the woods they followed was hidden by the inky black night and vegetation.

The man looked down on the old woman in the housedress. She was still breathing. He thought wretched things, but convinced himself otherwise; he was too lazy to clean off his pud afterward.

The evil man wandered from the door. He was the lookout. But for what? There wasn't a soul for kilometers. Good thing he brought his pistol, he thought.

Suddenly, a rustle of leaves and wings flapping pulled the man's attention to the east of the front garden. A group of bats took flight from a still swaying tree into the starry ink above. "What you call a bunch of bats?" the man wondered aloud.

As he turned back toward the house, he heard answer. "A cloud."

The handsome devil spun around face to the voice, which emanated from the rustling tree. There, beneath the large brush box was the silhouette of a striking figure.

The devil pulled a shooter from his side and fired a warning shot near the interlopers head. The shadowy figure did not move, or even flinch. But, even in the dark Australian night, the figure could be seen smiling.

A call from the house rang. "Letch! What ya'fuckin' playing at?!"

Letch did not respond. He was transfixed on the smiling man walking toward him. He pulled the trigger again, this time at the silhouette's feet. Not even a stutter.

The crew of thieves bled from the front door onto the garden.

"Fuckin' Letch! where're ya?! !"

"Didn't find dick in there, did we?"

"Maybe we get the wrong address?"

One of the skinnier thieves grabbed the old woman they had knocked out earlier. "Listen, ya little old bitch! where is it?!" No response. He flung her to the ground again.

"Haha! Good! That ol'hag! she didn't even have nothin' worth nicking!"

"Fuck! you and your double negatives! Gimme heartburn, it does!"

"Who invited this POM, eh? fuckin' wanker--"

"Shut UP, both of you!" bellowed the old-weathered face thief. "The thing ain't here, where it was supposed to be, so we need to go. Now!"

"Letch! Come on, man! we movin'!"

"There he is! Letch!"

The old-weathered face and the skinny thief ran toward the handsome man, as he stood motionless facing the large lophostemon confertus beside the house.

"What's on with you, Letch?" asked the skinny fellow.

"Hurry, you c-nt!" the old thief instructed. "We need to get moving, for the bosses sake."

"The Boss?..." whispered Letch.

"Yeah, his you-know-what ain't here. Lets go."

The two thieves walked away, thinking Letch was in their wake. Instead, he remained fixed on the tree.

"For fuck's sake! Gliff, go get 'im!" commanded the older thief.

Gliff ran back to Letch and then suddenly caught view of his compatriot's face. Gliff's skinny form fell to the ground, fear overtaking every sense. "Gaaaaaaahhhhh!!!"

"What now--" began the old thief, before his head was severed clean off from his neck.

The other thieves saw a fountain of blood spray into the night sky, and ran. Their feet carried them as fast at they could back down the path. Several tripped and disappeared into the dark of the tropics.

One of the thieves reached the clearing and saw, not more than two meters away, the van they arrived in . He hoofed it, soles sore, heart beating, no idea what was behind him. As he climbed into the driver's seat, he pressed the start button and fucked off into the distance. He did not look back.

Back at the front garden, the shadow figure climbed out of the hole in Letch's face, letting his handsome limb body fall to the grass. The figure brushed the blood off his shadowy shoes and walked to the lump in the housedress.

The figure poured itself into the old woman's ear and she awoke from her groggy sleep. "Fuckin' hell!" she muttered to herself. "These fucks really made a dogs' breakfast of my night."

Griff, still alive, covered in his own effluent, saw the old woman get back up. Maybe she wouldn't remember he socked her in the jaw and she would believe he tried to save her from the thieves.

"Ma'am! you're safe! Thank God. Those ruffians really pulled a number on us, eh?!"

The old woman's stare cut through Griff's game.

"Ma'am?" A long shadowy arm appeared from the old woman's nose and lifted Griff in the air by his neck. "Never call a lady "Ma'am!" Griff's neck snapped and his body went limp.

The old woman returned home, settled in to make a cup of tea and finish watching the news. Sitting on her now broken Barcalounger, amidst the rubble of her home, the old woman watched a news story of a speeding van that had collided with a ramp wall, killing the driver. "Oh, how nice!" she thought, sipping her evening tea.

The shadow inside the woman smiled from ear to ear. The thieves did not find what they were looking for. And those that did... were dead. His familiar was safe... as was his grip on this material world.