The Patron : Part 6

Shrouded Night

Shrouded Night

Having just returned from a delightful trip to New York city and grown fat on a mighty bite of big apple, what better way to get writing again than with a fine slice of The Patron. At some point I shall regale people with the myriad delights of my trip, most of which simply involved eating. Oh but what eating there was my friends. Either way for now, here’s some rediculous noir-esque action.

It’s been a while, so if you need a recap on episode 5 it’s here.


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The Patron : Part 6

Sounds echoed strangely in the fog. The containers wrapped him up like the belly of a metal beast.  There was a glow above as the bright moon tried to cut through the shrouded night.  He could hear others moving around too. They were all as blind as each other. Might be that was best, The Patron thought. No need to have eyes to see what was coming. Nobody could stop it now. Some things just come together with a smash. Some wrecks you can’t avoid.

Suddenly a silhouette appeared ahead. A knife darted towards The Patron’s throat. He parried with the cane sheath. Then he sheathed the cane in the darkness where the knife came from. A gurgle of a lonely goodbye was lost behind him as he walked on. It was the third he’d heard since he had entered the maze.

Rusted jaws of discarded shipping containers hung open on every side. The Patron couldn’t see into their depths. If anyone was waiting they would come to him. The smarter of them might not. His was not a forgiving mood. The one who waited would find that out soon enough.

Somewhere behind him there was a scream. Looked like someone was cleaning up the trash. He turned a second to glance back. That’s when the rope fell around his neck. He was yanked upward. The blade and sheath dropped to clatter against the ground below. A knot lay thick against his throat. There was no air. The Patron’s feet kicked out but found no purchase. His right hand clawed at the rope above his head. His left hand scraped against the knot that was slowly choking him. The noose tightened.

rope neck

The Patron’s left leg kicked against the metal of a container. He looked up, barely making out the grin of the man holding the end of his life in two hands. The air in his lungs was almost gone. The roar of blood through his ears was all The Patron could hear. He twisted and turned on the end of the rope but the grinning man held firm. Dots blurred in his vision. Strangely The Patron could smell roses. They reminded him of his brother. A growl rose in his throat. He shook his head, gasping still for breath. With all that was left of his energy he grabbed the rope around his throat. Then The Patron kicked out two footed against the metal. Every ounce of his strength went into that kick. Metal clashing against his shoes rang out like a bell tolling for a funeral. Then he was tumbling down towards the concrete. The rope was still heavy around his neck.

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Posted in The Patron, Writing

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