#tt 2016

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TT 2016: Eric Bana | MT TV | iom news on demand manx.net

TT 2016: Eric Bana | MT TV | iom news on demand manx.net

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[noctilucent-cloud]

Though the southwest corner of Steelworks had a name, none of the current occupants could remember it. Since the 60s when the big factories were erected, it had been Steelworks. A system of gargantuan red buildings with a fire burning deep in their gullets til the morning. In the 80s most, if not all by the 90s, had shut down. The owners released the buildings to the bank, who then tore most of them down. Still standing was Alyson's, one of the most prosperous of the few and far between glass manufacturers on the Steelworks side. In the late 90s the building was renovated, bought out by a small Christian sect who used the first floor for their sermons. A decade later the upper floors had be renovated into apartments, which were pieced out to the lower class workers that stuck around the sooty air of Steelworks. Nicole had purchased her apartment long after the church had left, but the neon cross at the top of the old factory still burned brightly. On right after 7pm, off at 5am like clockworked. It cast the streets in red for blocks, a beacon of holiness that was just ironic in color choice to amuse her. When it rained, the cloud cover was cast in such a hellish red that it overtook even her own lighting. Her apartment was bathed in red, and these dreary nights were spent on the fire escape listening to the foot traffic below. From here she could hear it all, from drug deals to affairs. Like the red glow, these things amused that dark part of her. She also found it amusing when yet another church took up the space below her. During the early mornings and evenings, she could hear Catholic hymns float up through the floor and echo through the empty apartments. Hollow words of praise for those in Steelworks, prayers weren't answered here anymore. Once profitable, Steelworks was now a haven for the forgotten. Nicole was a quiet person, choosing a life of solitude as a writer. Cliche, a poor writer living in a mostly empty apartment in the middle of a big city she thought she would conquer. In the gloom, the petite girl tutted herself. Of course, the self-loathing would arrive right on time. The church had let out long ago, though she never saw the young priest exit. She watched below her, legs dangling down over the top of yet another neon sign installed over the past few weeks. This time a white neon bible with a golden cross, no doubt to counteract its godawful red sibling above it. She took a drag of her cigarette and flicked the butt below her, watching it spark on the sidewalk at the feet of the aforementioned priest. He looked up at her with a sharp look, the collar of his coat pulled high to his chin. She stared at him before pulling her legs up and retiring inside. Another muggy night left her windows open, catching the hot summer rain of the early morning. When the sun finally did peek from the murky clouds, it was afternoon and Nicole was nowhere close to waking. Though, the insistent knocking had other plans. Bleary eyed, she staggered from her bedroom and peeled open the door. Before her, in all her barely dressed glory, stood the young priest whom she had accidentally attempted to burn just hours before. "Curious," Said he, his bright eyes glancing from her to behind her to the unkempt writer's hell she called home. "Can someone your age even buy cigarettes?" Nicole rubbed at one of her eyes, eyeballing him with with the other red one. She did not need this shit so early in the... Well, evening. She simply flapped her hand at him. "Yeah, yeah. Forgive me, Father. Can I help you with something?" "Not necessarily. I wasnt made aware there were any tenants up here. I came to ask if-" Nicole yawned, again rubbing at one of her eyes. He paused, studied her and smirked slightly. She studied him back, wondering if his pale blonde hair was natural. The five o'clock pastel fuzz would say yes, but his dark reddish skin would lead her to believe otherwise. In all, he was attractive. Or, it could be that white collar resting under his adam's apple that lead her to believe so. "Miss?" Nicole snapped her head up. He widened his almond eyes slightly, thick tan brows knitted. She yawned again and nodded. "Okay yeah how much do you need?" A look of confusion cross his face before it fell into a light chuckle, perfectly white teeth flashed in the sunlight. Momentarily she felt threatened, not comforted by his smile. "No, I'm sorry, I must have misspoke. I was just simply inquiring if our, ahem, festivities had bothered your sleep?" "You... Aren't from around here, where did you attend?" "Attend?" Said the priest curiously, he leaned against the doorframe. Nicole reeled back slightly, again, unsettled for a second. She held the door firmly, the iron knob pressed its pattern into her sweaty palm. "Ah. I see. I studied in Europe." "Vague." Nicole replied with a prim smile. "You haven't bothered me, I'm usually awake for both services. Thank you, Father." Slowly, she pressed the door close and watched him smirk and walk away from the peephole. She shook her head lightly. Figures, the priest in Steelworks would be creepy... But, as she sat down on the last 3/4ths of her novel, she considered he couldnt be all bad though. He did have a nice smile, after all.