Concrete Steeple (Part 1)

What you’re about to read will not be a cohesive story. Frankly, I’m just as confused as you will soon be.

My name is David. I am about as average as it gets. I had a normal childhood. I was not bullied, nor was I extremely popular. I had my small group of friends. This group tended to switch members now and then as life moved on. Because of that, I had no trouble making friends; relationships, however, were a huge challenge for me. People have asked me out before, but I can not bring myself to go on a date. The thought of having to touch someone, sounds about as pleasant as dragging your hand across a cheese grater.

I’m not aromantic or anything along those lines. I just cannot stand the thought of touching someone. I’m not a germophobe, and I have no past trauma that I know of that caused this predicament. I simply can’t touch people.

I lived alone in a very shitty apartment. The wallpaper is slowly falling off, pretty sure there is mold somewhere, and the landlord is a dickhead. I don’t earn a lot of money, and I’m currently working in a library that mostly goes empty.

Either way, I was about to cook a mushroom stew while listening to the sweet sound of my neighbours arguing. I had just bought some fresh porcini and was about to cut it into slices when there was a big thump. I got startled, and the knife slipped, cutting the tip of my finger pretty badly.

In my panicked state trying to find a bandaid, I managed to get blood all over the mushrooms, effectively ruining them, at least according to my standards. I could have just washed the blood off, but I’m a vegetarian. At that moment, the thought of blood touching my food made me gag. So I decided to go and buy some new ones. I really wish I had just washed it off. 

It was pitch black and raining outside, so I put on my old green fishermen's boots I had gotten from my grandpa and a nice long raincoat that my mom just gifted me. 

I exited my apartment building and started making my way to the convenience store. It was raining hard, and the raindrops smashed against my hood with such intensity that they drowned out the sound of the cars on the roads.

I was now walking on the sidewalk. Some of the water managed to get into my boots, soaking my socks. With every step, I could feel water getting squished out of my sock, slooshing between my toes and seeping right back in again. The sound of the rain combined with the blinding lights of the cars passing by made this short walk into a soggy sensory nightmare. 

I eventually got to the convenience store, and as the sliding door opened, a small lady bumped into me. I felt fucking disgusted. Not only at the fact that someone had touched me but that it made me react with such disgust.

The lady almost fell over, and all of her groceries went everywhere. I bent over and stopped one of the oranges that was rolling away. As I was about to hand the orange to her, she looked up at me. 

I stared into the most ice blue eyes I had ever seen. They were shining, almost illuminating. I found myself unable to look away. They were growing bigger. I felt the ground beneath my feet melt away. The woman's features drifted away into an abyss of darkness until there was only eyes staring at me. They kept growing bigger and bigger until I could no longer see their entirety. I was cold, mortified, full of bloodcurdling fear, yet obsessed, mesmerized, by what must have been the most hauntingly beautiful sight anyone could ever see.

Voices could be heard. They were talking over each other, some mumbling, some screaming, some male, some female. Until they all stopped and said. “Oh, you’re quite something.” 

I’m tired of all the walking I’ve done so far. I will tell you more some other time, I hope you’re there; I really hope someone is out there. 

The name of the story Concrete Steeple will make sense soon, don’t worry. 

Good night for now.