brigits_flame: Absence
Title: Absence
Word Count: 873
Warnings: Behind-the-scenes violence.
Summary: Can a man who lives by chance really be a man at all?
Notes: This was written for the brigits_flame June contest; the topic is "Caesar."
Night again. I walk the dirty streets of this city and listen to the howling of fetid dogs and the screaming of tortured souls. Stumble upon an old man lying in a broken doorway. He stares at me, pleading. Flip a coin. Heads. God must be merciful tonight. I give him the coin.
Keep walking. Pull my hat further over to cover the ghastly emptiness that exists beneath. Doubt anyone would look up for long enough to notice anyway. A woman lays on the ground, assailed by fleeing vagrants. Flip a coin. Heads, it shows for her. I help her up. Send her home.
For them? Tails. God is vengeful tonight. Time to hunt.
Check the alley that they just ran down. Left or right? Left or right? Flip a coin. Left it is. Follow the alley to a late-night diner. Greeted by a fat, old waitress. She smells of kitchen grease and bitter coffee. Maybe that's just her. No, I don't need a seat, lady. See any shady men here? Just me? Figures.
I walk on. Flip a coin over and over. Heads. Tails. Heads. Tails. Tails. Double tails. God is angry. Tails. Tails. Tails. Pause. Look up from my single-minded motions. A pale face stares back at me. No can do; a sin's still a sin. Your time's up. String's already been cut.
Onwards I travel. Steps seem aimless, but there's a plan for all of us. I guess it's called fate, and tonight, I am fate.
A mosquito lands on my arm. We are all God's creatures. Tails. His to watch over and his to judge. I crush the bug between my fingers and drop its twitching body on the dirty ground. Darkness blends into darkness. The incident is forgotten, except for the nagging itch on my arm. I ignore it and walk on.
Late night joints open everywhere on this street -- HOT GIRLS!!! Bar Open! Neon signs whiz by. I walk quickly. This place is full of sinners. Can't take care of them all. Got a job tonight.
Tails makes me stop at a twenty-four-hour liquor store. I look up. It's a standoff. There's a kid in there. Got a gun. Why do you look so scared, boy? You're the big bad man with a gun, aren't you? Flip. Heads. Curious. Get the hell out of here! Watch his retreating back. Got my own gun now. Stop acting like a fool, little man! I flip the coin. Tails. Tools, like us, were made for a purpose. We're no use if we don't live to our full potentials.
I walk out. Arm's itching again. Damn mosquito.
Snow begins to fall. Pristine white becomes tainted as soon as it touches the ground. City's so drenched with sin that even angels can't combat corruption. I trudge through the streets. Every step brings me closer, closer to my prey and closer to God.
I stop at an apartment building. It's old. Couldn't say how old. The bricks are all worn around the edges and the mortar between them is sunken in. I walk into the building and up the staircase. First floor flips heads. So does second.
Tails lands in my palm on the third floor. I exit the staircase. Walk down the hall. Three-oh-four reads the door of the residence that flips tails. I knock loudly. Once, twice, three times. It's late. A rude voice answers.
It's the kid from the liquor store. I flip the coin in my hand. It lands on heads again for him. I push past him into the room. It's small and looks run down. A single dilapidating couch sits in the middle of the floor; a young couple recline on it. The radio is on a talk station -- something about rising crime rates. Their faces look blank; they're either listening intently or not listening at all.
I flip the coin twice. Tails, and tails again.
My work done, I leave the room. The boy from the store is gone. I hear heavy footsteps hurrying away from me. I ignore them and exit the building. The bite on my arm feels worse than ever, but I continue ignoring it. The day is going to break soon, and it's time for me to go.
A child walks alone on the street. A note of desperation escapes from his lips. Something about this bothers me, as nothing else has. What the hell were you thinking, kid? Dark is dangerous. Men like me out here. Bad men.
The mad itch on my arm returns. I scratch it irritably. What do you want? Stop whining! Where's your house? There? Why are you looking at me like that?
All I hear are echoes. There. Over there. Bodies strewn across the living room floor. Wrong. What's wrong? I'm missing something here. God has never led me wrong.
I feel the biting cold. God. That's what's missing.
My arm is bugging me more than ever. I scratch it.
My skin turns an angry shade of red. I keep scratching.
Flip. Tails.
No! Tails. Tails.
Tails again. Flip. Flip. Flip. An endless melody clangs as coins clatter against the pavement. I don't look at what they are. I know.
Tails. Tails. All tails.
Word Count: 873
Warnings: Behind-the-scenes violence.
Summary: Can a man who lives by chance really be a man at all?
Notes: This was written for the brigits_flame June contest; the topic is "Caesar."
Night again. I walk the dirty streets of this city and listen to the howling of fetid dogs and the screaming of tortured souls. Stumble upon an old man lying in a broken doorway. He stares at me, pleading. Flip a coin. Heads. God must be merciful tonight. I give him the coin.
Keep walking. Pull my hat further over to cover the ghastly emptiness that exists beneath. Doubt anyone would look up for long enough to notice anyway. A woman lays on the ground, assailed by fleeing vagrants. Flip a coin. Heads, it shows for her. I help her up. Send her home.
For them? Tails. God is vengeful tonight. Time to hunt.
Check the alley that they just ran down. Left or right? Left or right? Flip a coin. Left it is. Follow the alley to a late-night diner. Greeted by a fat, old waitress. She smells of kitchen grease and bitter coffee. Maybe that's just her. No, I don't need a seat, lady. See any shady men here? Just me? Figures.
I walk on. Flip a coin over and over. Heads. Tails. Heads. Tails. Tails. Double tails. God is angry. Tails. Tails. Tails. Pause. Look up from my single-minded motions. A pale face stares back at me. No can do; a sin's still a sin. Your time's up. String's already been cut.
Onwards I travel. Steps seem aimless, but there's a plan for all of us. I guess it's called fate, and tonight, I am fate.
A mosquito lands on my arm. We are all God's creatures. Tails. His to watch over and his to judge. I crush the bug between my fingers and drop its twitching body on the dirty ground. Darkness blends into darkness. The incident is forgotten, except for the nagging itch on my arm. I ignore it and walk on.
Late night joints open everywhere on this street -- HOT GIRLS!!! Bar Open! Neon signs whiz by. I walk quickly. This place is full of sinners. Can't take care of them all. Got a job tonight.
Tails makes me stop at a twenty-four-hour liquor store. I look up. It's a standoff. There's a kid in there. Got a gun. Why do you look so scared, boy? You're the big bad man with a gun, aren't you? Flip. Heads. Curious. Get the hell out of here! Watch his retreating back. Got my own gun now. Stop acting like a fool, little man! I flip the coin. Tails. Tools, like us, were made for a purpose. We're no use if we don't live to our full potentials.
I walk out. Arm's itching again. Damn mosquito.
Snow begins to fall. Pristine white becomes tainted as soon as it touches the ground. City's so drenched with sin that even angels can't combat corruption. I trudge through the streets. Every step brings me closer, closer to my prey and closer to God.
I stop at an apartment building. It's old. Couldn't say how old. The bricks are all worn around the edges and the mortar between them is sunken in. I walk into the building and up the staircase. First floor flips heads. So does second.
Tails lands in my palm on the third floor. I exit the staircase. Walk down the hall. Three-oh-four reads the door of the residence that flips tails. I knock loudly. Once, twice, three times. It's late. A rude voice answers.
It's the kid from the liquor store. I flip the coin in my hand. It lands on heads again for him. I push past him into the room. It's small and looks run down. A single dilapidating couch sits in the middle of the floor; a young couple recline on it. The radio is on a talk station -- something about rising crime rates. Their faces look blank; they're either listening intently or not listening at all.
I flip the coin twice. Tails, and tails again.
My work done, I leave the room. The boy from the store is gone. I hear heavy footsteps hurrying away from me. I ignore them and exit the building. The bite on my arm feels worse than ever, but I continue ignoring it. The day is going to break soon, and it's time for me to go.
A child walks alone on the street. A note of desperation escapes from his lips. Something about this bothers me, as nothing else has. What the hell were you thinking, kid? Dark is dangerous. Men like me out here. Bad men.
The mad itch on my arm returns. I scratch it irritably. What do you want? Stop whining! Where's your house? There? Why are you looking at me like that?
All I hear are echoes. There. Over there. Bodies strewn across the living room floor. Wrong. What's wrong? I'm missing something here. God has never led me wrong.
I feel the biting cold. God. That's what's missing.
My arm is bugging me more than ever. I scratch it.
My skin turns an angry shade of red. I keep scratching.
Flip. Tails.
No! Tails. Tails.
Tails again. Flip. Flip. Flip. An endless melody clangs as coins clatter against the pavement. I don't look at what they are. I know.
Tails. Tails. All tails.