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Wonder Wall

One Man's Bloody Attempt to Serenade

By Sarah ThompsonPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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Lying in my single bed, with an alien hand over my ovaries, listening to Adam, my flatmate, scrub blood spatter off the other side of the wall is not how I expected to be finishing this night.

It all started when I agreed to go on a date with a seemingly normal young man. I was at college in Scotland, and although Adam and I had many house parties, I think I must have felt lonely.

I can't remember where we went, probably the local Whetherspoons, as I was going through a faze of shouting "Guinness is a meal" at any opportunity. Neither can I remember his name (let's call him Grahame for ease). I just remember knowing he was harmless, liked soft rock, and that I wanted to go home... and also the bloody aftermath.

After a few drinks, I started saying my goodbyes to be informed by said gentleman that he hadn't expected to return to his abode and couldn't get a taxi to the next town because he had just spent the last of his money on Guinness.

"Fair," I thought to myself and after deciding he could stay on the floor, on the spare single mattress I kept under my own, we walked up the cobbled streets towards my student home, and Adam. Adam was waiting patiently for my return, whilst eating defrosted pasta from Iceland and reading a book of short horror stories from 1964.

"Oh," said Adam as he saw I hadn't entered alone.

Believing Grahame's being in our home as a silent omission of my planning to have casual sex with him, Adam took it upon himself to entertain a slightly drunken Grahame, in order to help smooth out the expected exchange.

There was nothing I could do except sit back and watch this happen.

It became clear that Grahame was shocked to find a (handsome, caring, seemingly ungay) man in my home and was quietly engaging Adam to a duel for my attention.

Another man in the house with a penchant for beautiful songs fired Grahame into a frenzy, and after hearing an inspiringly performed, yet entirely misunderstood, rendition of 'The Only Gay Eskimo" from Adam, he decided to take the guitar from my flat mates nimble hands and took it upon himself to change what he deemed to be an unfair hierarchy in the group.

Grahame had decided on a classic "Wonderwall," a wise choice most would say, a winner among most crowds in the western hemisphere.

He then lost his mind.

I firmly believe that Grahame only had good intentions. Unfortunately, his Ultimate-Guitar-online-tutorial training betrayed him with a coldness only seen in books of short horror stories written in 1964, and as he strummed on the guitar with all the clout and tenacity of a cornered bull, his fingers began to bleed, the movements turned to slow motion, and Adam and I sat in our Ikea couch, speechless and unable to move, as tiny splashes of blood spattered against the wood chip wallpaper. Although the crimson droplets were small their reach proved vast, and as I turned towards Adam one such drop followed my eye line and landed unsurruptitiously on his cheek, just under his eye. He blinked back the impact, and as he collected his emotions, I witnessed his expression turn from one of terrified shock, to that of a trauma victim, ravaged by the wrongdoings of humanity.

"Stop! Please stop!" Adam managed to squeeze out of his petrified lungs, one lone voice against a scene of biblical proportions, the spot of blood dripping from his cheek like a tear. Grahame carried on, unperturbed, believing his blood to be an offering to the cause, a sacrifice which must be made. His eyes, lost in his mercenary craft, shone with the fury of a thousand suns.

It became clear that the bloodbath couldn't stop until the last lyrics had been uttered and eventually the final chord of the Oasis classic rang out in the magnolia room like the final nail in a coffin.

After a confused and apprehensive silence, Adam made the first move. He cleared his throat...

"Where are you sleeping tonight, Grahame?"

Grahame smiled in a naive and chilling manner.

"Here of course! Where the party is."

Adam smiled politely, unable to believe the abhorrent situation I had landed us in, and seeing an opportunity to wreak comeuppence upon me for my shoddy dating misdemeanor.

Adam took me into the bathroom under the guise of discussing an ongoing plumbing problem. It was here the deal was struck. I wasn't willing to throw this poor man onto the street, and neither was Adam. That being said, we were both fearful of our lives and the threat of being gorily serenaded whilst I slept weighed heavily on my mind.

It was decided that he would sleep in my room as it was the largest (and it was my fault we were in this mess) but Adam would check in at regular periods during the night to make sure Grahame wasn't bleeding on anything. He would sleep, as discussed beforehand, on the spare mattress on the floor.

So it was to be, and we settled down in my room, whilst Adam began the mammoth task of cleansing our walls of DNA. He made me watch Rambo on video and as I was finally drifting off to sleep he pulled his hand from its place on the floor and placed it on my lower stomach, where it would remain, awkward and unquestioned, until the next morning.

I never saw him again.

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About the Creator

Sarah Thompson

I write about ridiculous things that have happened to me.

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