The Tall Man

A tall man holding an umbrella spins through the rain as she looks on. Faster and faster he moves trying to catch all the drops. Still some are missed hitting the floor in tiny aqua explosions. The road ahead is blocked by two enormous black gates. Iron and lock they will not move. A rider approaches down the road. Whiskey and rye for the time I lost my eye he wails and all about are statues. One grin brighter in the gloom. Familiar friend, beckoning us home. Let your hair down at the side of the bed exclaims an onlooker, the trance broken. She's locked in the cupboard and he won't let her out. I can help you friend, but the cost is this. Swear that you will rush the gates with me, no matter what you see don't turn back. I swear it said the tall man. The girl danced around him in a circle, stomach writhing in languid copulation with a phantom partner. Smoke curled from the nose of the rider, flaring purple in its ascendency heavenward. A gunshot rang out in the night. The gates looked down unmoving and impartial.