kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"AShortWalk"

words

The warm glow of the freshly paved road on his bare feet belied the hour, while cold wind muffled his thoughts and quickened his blood. It was a night as any other. A quick temper, fighting to control misplaced rage - where it belonged he did not know but it did not belong here. He sought solitude wandering the slightly raised yellow stripes, splotches still unworn, dribbled on the road. There no people here, and for the moment, no vehicles. Slowly, his hair raised on end as he felt the energies dissipate from his body. Calm thyself, son, he thought to himself. He didn't like the fact that he'd been beaten so soundly in something that utilitized an ability he prized himself in. He was quick, damn it all. He had no excuses but plain fact of failiure. He disliked the anger within himself. It did not belong. Ruefully, he shook his hand, not even wincing in acknowledgement of the paint that shot through it.

Cold would lower his energies to where he could pass for human again, at least his version thereof. Yet another reason to hate being male -- the blood. A sure failure at what he couldn't do and inadequate in what he at least thought he could. He played people, sometimes. An ego boost here and there just to know that you are more powerful, more knowledgeable... but he always pushed too far and once again he could see, if no one else could, that it was simply stupidity goading him on his way. A stubborn little bastard. He acknowledged it, and even sometimes reveled in it when in better moods.

He stopped for a moment, staring upwards at the streetlight. He was striking in silhouette; a young man, maybe twenty or twenty-five, with innocent eyes staring listlessly and wantonly at the red streetlamp above him. His mind was lost in the enormosity of mankind. How mankind had spiderwebbed the world with its petty diseases: energy depletion, overpopulation, pollution. He marveled as the red turned to green, and he heard the sounds of an engine starting. People actually obey the electrons flowing through those little wires. How strongly those little critters affect our world, they probably would never know. Life as an electron.

The engine was a soft roar that did not disturb him from his melancholy. The gentle nudge, on the other hand, did quite well. She wasn't a beautiful car, but her bumper was solid. And he was sure she provided. She was a car after all. He smiled the fool's smile, unseeing as the brights flashed on and off, strobing his senses with clicks both audible, visual, and mental. The world turned on and off and on and off, not quite slow motion but every particle highlighted to the fullest degree to his senses. He could smell the black tar on the asphalt, could taste the musty mouldy of the interior of the car permeate the world as he heard the door open slowly. The flashing stopped.

The driver shouted but those were words that belonged to the living and he had no cares for those. He felt himself being shoved around, and fell to the ground as he slowly realised the situation. There was a large man standing above him, threateningly, and there was no one else around. His eyes swiveled in and out of focus on a long metal rod. Ah, he said to himself. A gun. This mother fucker must think he's crazier than me. He's got another think coming. He smiled wider, then, at the man, and bowed his head in acknowledgement of the fact that the man had the upper hand. That was life, of course.

Still smiling, he reached gently for the pistol, attempting to move it out of harm's way. The gun moved naught but to poke him once hard in the ribs. He was pretty sure nothing had cracked, but it felt like a large needle had been jammed into him and released. There were differences: the absence of blood and the fact that it was more the dull pain of a blunt object than the sharp bite of a needle. Much like his hand. That, however, was more self-inflicted than not. Damned walls. He always forgot how much they hurt, how solid they were, when his anger got the better of him.

He smiled still, reassuringly at the man who seemed to loom over him more and more menacingly as moments passed. It always said in those shows that calm was the way to remain. Well, he was calm alright. He'd rarely been calmer. He was going to slowly take hold of the gun, and walk away with it. The man would remain insignificant, and he'd have a nifty new toy to play with. Maybe he'd find the guts to finally end his misery. Life, they called it. For now, however, there were more interesting games to play. Get the gun from monkey boy. The gun was still pointed at him, and not his yet. He looked deep into the whites of the man's eyes. They were red, really, from exhaustion. Sort of like his, probably. He understood. He extended his hand, trying to allieve the man of his gun without suspicionor problems. Confusion was the thing to create and play off of.

His ears hurt. That was the problem, really. He could hear the birds flittering. Was it dawn already? The noise had probably simply roused them from their rest -- it surely had his heart pounding. The man seemed scared as well; he jumped into the car, quickly now as after the long silence the noise had shattered the murky stillness. The care drove away into the darkness. No, it definitely wasn't dawn yet. He was having trouble making things out, especially after the car lights. He didn't have the gun, but perhaps he didn't need it. He wondered if head shots hurt less. The young man decided he ought to sleep. Sleeping healed things, and it had been some time since last he slept. He slowly walked over to the soft grass of the park, and curled up, numbness spreading comfortably through his body. He could feel the earth below him, comforting, and the tree at his back, cradling. He was warm now, and looked forward to one good night's sleep, finally. He finally could sleep.