Behind The Moon
Entry by: Alobear
27th March 2015
Behind The Moon
The Moon Bar is a fairly seedy establishment, with a reputation that keeps most respectable clients away. It squats on a less than salubrious street in a bad part of town, its paint fading and its windows grimy.
The neighbourhood wasn’t always so bad, as evidenced by the stately gothic architecture of the building situated one street over. Glance up from the alleyway that runs behind the bar, and you’ll see a fat little gargoyle perched on a ledge, looking down at you. Its grotesque features are twisted in a snarl, or maybe a grimace of distaste at the various colours of human interaction that pass beneath its gaze. For it has quite the view of all the goings-on that take place behind The Moon.
XXXXX
One of the bartenders goes to the alleyway to smoke during his rare breaks. He is dressed in tight jeans and a mesh shirt with cut-away sleeves, and shivers in the chill night air, as he lights his cigarette. He puts up with the cold for the brief moments of peace the alley provides, away from the noise and chaos inside. The clothes are very far from what he would choose to wear himself, but management thinks the female punters spend more when there’s eye candy to ogle at the bar. The bartender can’t afford to lose his job, so he wears what he’s told to wear, plays up to the attention he gets, and looks forward to the end of his shift.
XXXXX
The back door of the bar bursts open and a man and woman stumble out, clutching each other and staggering slightly at the sudden change in temperature. They press up against the wall of the alley, oblivious to their surroundings as they kiss passionately. The woman runs her fingers through the man’s hair and then trails them down his back, her long nails digging through his shirt. He cups her breast in one hand, while the other reaches up beneath her skirt and between her legs. She gasps in pleasure, her dress riding upwards as she writhes in answer to his actions. Eventually, they come up for air, laughing breathlessly, their eyes sparkling. The woman grabs the man’s hand and drags him down the alley away from the bar, her gait a practised totter in six inch stilettoes.
XXXXX
A man loiters near the end of the alley, his body language a picture of studied nonchalance. He wears a thigh length leather jacket, open down the front, with deep pockets, which are currently concealing his hands. He tosses long, unkempt hair out of his eyes, glancing in both directions as if waiting for someone. Before long, another figure saunters down the alley towards him, dressed in dark clothing, his shoulders hunched and his head down. The two men do not speak. The newcomer reaches into his coat and the flash of money can be seen as he extends a hand. The other man retrieves a small white packet from one of his pockets and they make a surreptitious exchange. The customer then beats a hasty retreat, his footsteps eager as he makes away with his purchase.
XXXXX
The night air is split by an angry shout, and two men come barrelling out of the back door to the bar, light and violence spilling out into the alley with them. They tumble to the ground, locked in combat, rolling in the detritus scattered around them. One quickly gains the upper hand, pinning his opponent and landing several vicious punches. The losing combatant struggles vainly to protect himself from the blows, sounds of impact and groans of pain drifting upwards. Once assured of his victory, the other man spits in the face of his opponent and gets to his feet, indulging in a swift kick to the ribs before heading back inside. His victim curls into a ball around his injuries, gathering the strength to slink away into the darkness.
XXXXX
A homeless man rootles in the dumpsters that line the alley, looking for food or items that might be of use to him. What he finds is the body of a young woman, killed and discarded some time during the night. Startled and horrified, the man stumbles backwards, then shuffles quickly away. Later, the alley swarms with activity. Men in uniform scour every inch, photographing anything that might offer a clue. Vehicles with flashing lights block both ends of the alley, the area around the dumpster itself cordoned off by striped tape. Two detectives stand close together, talking in low and serious tones, while the medical examiner makes an initial assessment of the body. Bystanders and reporters crane for a better view, pushing against the police barriers. The bar is closed.
XXXXX
What does the little gargoyle think of all this? Nobody will ever know, for he is only stone, and cannot offer judgement on what passes beneath his impassive gaze.
The Moon Bar is a fairly seedy establishment, with a reputation that keeps most respectable clients away. It squats on a less than salubrious street in a bad part of town, its paint fading and its windows grimy.
The neighbourhood wasn’t always so bad, as evidenced by the stately gothic architecture of the building situated one street over. Glance up from the alleyway that runs behind the bar, and you’ll see a fat little gargoyle perched on a ledge, looking down at you. Its grotesque features are twisted in a snarl, or maybe a grimace of distaste at the various colours of human interaction that pass beneath its gaze. For it has quite the view of all the goings-on that take place behind The Moon.
XXXXX
One of the bartenders goes to the alleyway to smoke during his rare breaks. He is dressed in tight jeans and a mesh shirt with cut-away sleeves, and shivers in the chill night air, as he lights his cigarette. He puts up with the cold for the brief moments of peace the alley provides, away from the noise and chaos inside. The clothes are very far from what he would choose to wear himself, but management thinks the female punters spend more when there’s eye candy to ogle at the bar. The bartender can’t afford to lose his job, so he wears what he’s told to wear, plays up to the attention he gets, and looks forward to the end of his shift.
XXXXX
The back door of the bar bursts open and a man and woman stumble out, clutching each other and staggering slightly at the sudden change in temperature. They press up against the wall of the alley, oblivious to their surroundings as they kiss passionately. The woman runs her fingers through the man’s hair and then trails them down his back, her long nails digging through his shirt. He cups her breast in one hand, while the other reaches up beneath her skirt and between her legs. She gasps in pleasure, her dress riding upwards as she writhes in answer to his actions. Eventually, they come up for air, laughing breathlessly, their eyes sparkling. The woman grabs the man’s hand and drags him down the alley away from the bar, her gait a practised totter in six inch stilettoes.
XXXXX
A man loiters near the end of the alley, his body language a picture of studied nonchalance. He wears a thigh length leather jacket, open down the front, with deep pockets, which are currently concealing his hands. He tosses long, unkempt hair out of his eyes, glancing in both directions as if waiting for someone. Before long, another figure saunters down the alley towards him, dressed in dark clothing, his shoulders hunched and his head down. The two men do not speak. The newcomer reaches into his coat and the flash of money can be seen as he extends a hand. The other man retrieves a small white packet from one of his pockets and they make a surreptitious exchange. The customer then beats a hasty retreat, his footsteps eager as he makes away with his purchase.
XXXXX
The night air is split by an angry shout, and two men come barrelling out of the back door to the bar, light and violence spilling out into the alley with them. They tumble to the ground, locked in combat, rolling in the detritus scattered around them. One quickly gains the upper hand, pinning his opponent and landing several vicious punches. The losing combatant struggles vainly to protect himself from the blows, sounds of impact and groans of pain drifting upwards. Once assured of his victory, the other man spits in the face of his opponent and gets to his feet, indulging in a swift kick to the ribs before heading back inside. His victim curls into a ball around his injuries, gathering the strength to slink away into the darkness.
XXXXX
A homeless man rootles in the dumpsters that line the alley, looking for food or items that might be of use to him. What he finds is the body of a young woman, killed and discarded some time during the night. Startled and horrified, the man stumbles backwards, then shuffles quickly away. Later, the alley swarms with activity. Men in uniform scour every inch, photographing anything that might offer a clue. Vehicles with flashing lights block both ends of the alley, the area around the dumpster itself cordoned off by striped tape. Two detectives stand close together, talking in low and serious tones, while the medical examiner makes an initial assessment of the body. Bystanders and reporters crane for a better view, pushing against the police barriers. The bar is closed.
XXXXX
What does the little gargoyle think of all this? Nobody will ever know, for he is only stone, and cannot offer judgement on what passes beneath his impassive gaze.
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