The Horror

In Apocalypse Now, Marlon Brando wheezes alot about “the horror.” Now, to tell you the truth, i’m not exactly 100% about what “the horror” was, or is. I’m guessing the horror he spoke of was the horror of war, of death and of slaughter. But really it could have been anything.

We all have our horrors i think. We all have those moments where we sit back and think “ho-ly SHEET!” Those moments that will stay with us forever, because they were so eye-opening. Tonight, i experienced a horror of my own.

As is the usual case, i’m sitting on the Metro. I’ve just finished my screenwriting class and i’m heading back home. For some reason when i got on the Metro i decided to put my book away. I wasn’t in the mood to read. I just wanted to watch the world spin past in the hypnotic way it usually does.

A few stops after i get on, two girls get on. My eyes immediately spin towards these girls. I hate to admit it but when it comes to girls, i’m a typical guy. If a good looking girl walks by me, my eyes will follow her. When a girl enters the room i have to look to see how good looking she is. I’m sad like that.

So these two girls get on, they sit at one end of the train, and i sit at the other end. Pretty soon one of the girls has gotten off the train, leaving the other girl by herself.

At first i just glance at this girl. Look over a few times, checking after every station to see if she has gotten off. But the weird thing is, this girl is sitting facing away from me. So i’m constantly glancing at the back of her head. I never got to see her face when she got on the train and i’m curious. I’ve seen enough to know i like her though. I’ve seen her hair which is long and black. It goes down to the end of her neck and touches the top of her shoulders. Green streaks mark it at the front, which i somehow managed to see, while somehow missing her face.

She wears a yellow top and short red skirt. The skirt is rippled like a cheerleaders, vertical pieces of fabric slowly making there way down from the belt. Underneath show black tights which travel down her long legs to her tiny shoes. It seems wrong to say she had long legs. The girl was like an optical illusion, somehow short and somehow seeming to have legs that were endless. As a final addition she carried a bag from the Baltic Art gallery, suggesting to me that she’d bought something there. I could tell what she had bought was nothing pretentious, maybe a book with cartoons in, or a soft toy of some type.

From behind, she is beautiful. I already know where she lives, Benton or Monkseaton, all the good looking girls live there. I pray it’s Monkseaton so i can catch a glance of her face as i walk from my station.

I wait as the train pulls up to Benton, thankfully she doesn’t get off, so i’m all setup to catch her face. The curiosity is killing me. This girl is near perfect from behind, i already want to take her in my arms and squeeze her.

After Benton is my stop, so we don’t have long to wait. I walk up the train towards her, stopping at the door behind her. Close enough to touch this girl. I dream of running upto her, spinning her around and looking into her eyes. I could never do that, but it’s a dream.

The train stops eventually, the doors open and i step onto the platform. I walk along it slowly, to give me time to look at her face. I keep walking forward, turn towards her and i gasp. That’s when the horror hit me.

Now i know what you are thinking. You’re thinking this girl was hot from behind, but her face was as ugly as sin. Well, you are wrong. This girl was beautiful. The word “beautiful” just isn’t enough to describe how good she looked. I don’t think any adjective could describe it. But she looked perfect.

She had a cute button nose which blended into her round red cheeks. These features seemed to perfectly reflect her small timid lips and her slow somber eyes. It feels so wrong to describe her face, because my words can’t do it justice. To read what i’ve just written is to assume that the features of the girls face stuck out. They didn’t, they perfectly blended together like colours in a work of art. All part of the same bigger, beautiful picture.

Just looking at this girl for a second burnt her image onto my retinas, and as the train pulled away she looked at me for a second. It was like looking into the eye of the storm. People say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. At that moment our life flashed before my eyes.

I pictured our first kiss, out in the cold with snow around us. I pictured the first time we made love. I pictured the time i proposed, and i pictured the day we both died. All of this came to me as i looked into her eyes. Then i realised, chances are i’d never see this girl again. I’d never look into those eyes again. I’d never get to live that life with her, and it scared me.

I’d looked into the eyes of perfection for just a moment, and it felt like i couldn’t go back to normality. How could you? So now you know about my horror. Maybe Marlon was the same. Going through his life always thinking of what he’d seen in some young ladies eyes.

The horror.


8 thoughts on “The Horror”

  1. I think Marlon’s horror was to do more with being a fat fuckity fuck to be honest.

    Soooooooooo well written though 🙂

  2. You’ve got everything right, the poetry of thought, the amorous desires, the captivating vocabulary, one more step and talk to a girl like that and you’re a made man.

  3. this somehow reminds me of something you wrote about James Blunt a while ago.

    Good Idea #1; WHy dont you write a shitty song about it to overcome your horror?

    great post though- very well written.



    Take care, Nat x

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