Blood Alley

A man stands in the subway -- drinking a bottle of beer, waiting for the train to arrive. Thinking to himself, he sees a stranger within the fog as time stands still as he takes another sip of his drink and a drag of his cigarette. The sense of fear in his heart thickins as this stranger appears before him -- he observes that he doesn't cast a shodow or a reflection. The horror in his mind reveals what he witnesses was just an illusion -- only to realize that the stranger is walking closer to him. Indeed one becomes nervous -- the nervous becomes even more intense as he takes a drag off his cigarette.
  The stranger was clad in back and carried a tommy gun -- perhaps the apparition was from Al Capone’s erea. The subway was full of untold stories of apparitions and shootings. I have observed the subway for many years -- interviewed its occupants on their accounts, some say the stories are total bullshit. For the man drinking the beer, the reality of the apparition is there alive as the miracles in Jerusalem.
  The horror one could see in the shadows -- the apparition appear as time slowly stood still. The visions appeared as this appeared me in the subway -- a reoccurring nightmare of being gunned down in middle of Cicero, the reason one might have this dark revelation could be a prophecy of their own death. The nightmare one remembers as I walked into the alley known as Bloody Alley -- the images one sees in this alley, one giantic graveyard as one sees the dead from crossfire’s past.
  One could see the horror -- I stand here witnessing the spill of blood, the the stories of murder told by the homeless and murder of the homeless in the streets. For the streets of Chicago do have eyes and they could see the unholy blasphemies from the apparitions of the dead within the deathless night.
  The illness one could feel in the pits of the hell known as Blood Alley -- the blackening fears remain as the unspeakable nightmares are still remembered. One tries to forget them -- only to recall the horror more vividly. The blackening reality haunts one’s soul as I see the the homeless walking down Blood Alley at night when the gangs are out. The blood paints the grafitti on the walls -- in the the urban cemetery along Lawerence and Wilson -- the horror which is beyond description as I stand in the alley frozen in fear.
  The nightmares one sees within the alley -- the picture of the pistol pointing at one's head as the gang member shrieks "where is your God, he is not here -- I have the power to let you live or to take your life at the pull of the trigger."
  The tormenting sound of wrath could be heard in his voice -- a voice that could not be forgotten in the darkness. The sound of the Crypts voice echoes the Alley of Blood -- I could vividly recall this account as I sit on the subway train telling this tale to the stranger next to me.
  The stranger cautioned to me -- he was quite stange. Poetic, but strange.
  “Let me take you into a tour of reality -- a horror one sees everyday. One stares down the barrel of the gun everyday within their nightmares -- the writings on the wall tell the tale of horror, the blackening fear as one walks down the alleys become nervously real. The shots of the gun one could hear in the darkness -- be afraid, be very afraid. This fear will keep you alive.”
  The prophet of horror this stranger spoke of -- the reality within the black. What he said only lead me to more questions -- one that cannot be answered with human reasoning. The human mind is tormented by the nightmares within the alley known to the locals as Blood Alley -- the visions one sees of countless corpses in the street, an undefined reality of the human condition as the preachers speak in the chapel. They say the why cannot be answered or the how -- it's a matter of who is to blame behind all the insanity.
  One cannot say who is the real blame for the murders behind Blood Alley or explain the cemetery within the streets. The homeless sleep within the crypts underneath the sewers as their souls are buried alive in the foundations of the buildings.
  The bones which are made into the cement to hold up the the pilars and the skulls are the lamps in the buildings and the hotels. The hallways were painted with the blood of the corpses which came from grave robbers -- the sick mind of a foreman building the hotel in the duration of the night; decorating the floors with carpets made of human hair. For the canabils who made the furniture out human flesh and bones found in Blood Alley.
  The blackening prayers of the martyr is tone deaf within the streets -- drowned out by the sound of gunfire, another funeral within the darkened alleys as I describe it. Nor was one ready for what they saw within the night -- a reality of which I cannot describe in words as the unholy screams. The sharpening sense of fear remains as one has witnessed the death of a preist -- laying cold on the concrete in a pool of liquid shit.
  Walking down the alley one sees the tell tale grafetti -- images of pentagrams and southern crosses are painted in the martyr's blood. The unspeakable evil one could feel in the darkness -- the writings which appear upon the corpse in middle of his chest as if they were carved into him with a stilletto. The words were in some sort of cryptic which reads, "DOG SREDRUM NATAS."
  The preist that lays cold and lifeless -- stares into the blackened heavens. Forever asking what kind of God will let his corpse rot on the concrete -- staying into the eyes of Death and raped into the mouth of insanity. The Black which continues to rape one’s immortal soul as they die -- the unholy smell of rotting flesh and dried blood fills the air of the alley. The screams within the streets could be heard as the name REDRUM is chanted.
  The darkness engulfs the evil one cannot describe -- the blood which fills the alleys within the streets with the horror of a reality beyond one's imagination. A sheer raping of an evil one cannot see or hear but could only be seen with in the hearts of darkness within the scars of humanity itself. Multiple reasons a homocide cannot be explained -- a serial horror with unexplained reasons I cannot define. None could tell who is the blame -- the bullets within the horror which remains hidden as the unforgiven sin remains unspoken.