Partially Blind

Written for https://melissalemay.wordpress.com/tag/fffc/

This is part of my novel ”In The Dark”. It is out for submission, and worked well with the prompt of arcade. It is about a journalist called Sarah, and she is investigating a drug’s operation which led to her husband’s murder and her going partially blind.

The high street has undergone a transformation I readily understand.

Gone are the new families, with their children demanding ice-creams and trips to the zoo. Couples, about Mum and Dad’s age are finished with their night out. Teenagers replace them, strutting as if they are seagulls. Invading sleepy seaside town littering the floor with their play fights and alcohol infused action.

‘Pisshead!‘ a young lad shouts.  

A homeless man camouflages under layers; his Jack Russel close to him. A boy from the crowd spits over his face. Quiet throughout; his only reaction is pulling his hoodie further to avoid the spray.

Swerving down the road in a drunken Congo line, they laugh at their cleverness. Eventually, the flashing lights lure them in. The Casino Royal. In oversized lettering, you cannot miss it. Over eighteen? None of the youngsters are taking any notice.

I hover at the entrance of the arcade.

Georgie Boy? Plastic notes are hidden alongside keys and my mobile phone. Richard’s bribe money is useless. Pretending to be an addict would not work. They have a scent all their own.

‘Come on, you’re sound you are.’

‘No credit, you were told that yesterday. Now scram, the lot of you.’

They all congregate by the kiosk.

‘Do you think I am scared?’ There is a click, and they disperse.

Bursting through the entrance, they rush past me, and into the path of an oncoming car. It beeps out a warning, Disappearing towards the beach they are finally quiet.

The only other customer, ignoring the outburst, is continuously depositing his livelihood. Gambling is a big issue. Maybe that’s it? Even if they were aware, it was me… This addiction lures people to places they wouldn’t usually frequent.

Preferable to be noticed for the right reasons. 

Before I have time to weigh things, I surge at the counter. The only thing separating me from being out of control is a sliver of glass. He barely looks up as I push over two top-tier notes.

He swaps them for bank bags full of pound coins.

Not offering any conversation, I sit on a bar stool. Losing is easy. Click, click, click. The whirr of a loser. Probably rigged. There’s potentially a solitary success in them, and yet the timing is perfect when they do.

In a few minutes, the cash empties and turns into hollow shells. Not saying a word, I deposit an additional fifty-pound note. He passes another bag. I glance up. A camera, in the corner, observes the player.

I repeat the process, my near empty purse open. One last note, with a smattering of trivial change, goes the same direction as the rest.

With a fresh amount, ready to start again, I will return tomorrow.