Zugzwang

General Summary

Breathe.
The blade dripped fresh red, maroon paint filling a puddle on the cracked concrete. It was all underwater; muffled yells, heavy breathing, the cocking of a rifle. The sounds were all so distant. So forgetful. Only one voice cut through, hot blade through flesh.
He only needed one. It was meth to the addict, beer to the alcoholic. Straight up dopamine releasing satisfaction through his very soul. Guidance for his eyes. Directions for his hands to send Masumune through skin, muscle, and bone. Wisdom for times of doubt.
Breathe.
In the pale winter of the past, cold wet snow covered his vision. Gusts and howls, maelstrom infused air whipped itself around his jacket. Shattered windows offered possible sanctuary. Forcing his way through, breaking the barrier of still air. A night, that was it. Just one night then he’ll be back on his way. His parents were probably done looking, there wasn’t much reason to anymore. He couldn’t offer anything, a useless body, another mouth to feed. For too long he lived a life of reliance. The wind could be heard deep inside the walls of this gray ruin, splintered tables and chairs lay about. They were dry enough. Old tablecloths bundled up between his hands, a flip and switch, heat produced. Quick breaths, darting eyes, a shudder journeyed down his spine. It would only be one night.
His chest heaved, blood trickled down from a fresh hole in his chest. Their voice snapped him back. “Stop! Stop! What are you two doing?”
The yelps from the small one gave a tug on the fishing line to his heart. Freckles, auburn hair. A marlin stuck on a hook. They were in a row boat. It pulled and pulled, but his voice beckoned him to the deep, red eyes, rumblings in the darkness. Flashes of both, face of beauty, visage of anger. It was a fear building deep underneath. He had to resist, just enough for more time. More time to look.
Breathe.
Sleep came and went. The smoke of the spent fire kissed his nose. Cold wrapped its fingers through the cracks between his clothing. Tendrils slithering through his pant leg, hissing the future that was coming. He had to move. Rusty knees lifted his skinny body. Slow steps took him deeper in. The wind was a distant memory. The air changed. Each step brought a warmth that started to soak into him. It was a songbird on Sunday. A pine tree in the room, freshly baked sweets melting the mouth. Cooked eggs and bacon lifting up empty stomachs. It was hope. A cracked window let moonlight slip by, resting itself upon a crater. Cracked earth opened itself to him. A shine seen from afar, yellow light bracing against the gray. Two more steps taken and he peered down. Inside lay one object. He stared. The golden smile stared back.
She stood there, bleeding from wounds given to her. They were wounds she deserved, that she asked for, that he had to deliver. Her rifle was starting to slip out of wet hands, trained sight no longer pointing at his chest. She was evil. He knew it, he was told. The fishing line was tight. One more strike, jugular to jaw. Her crooked smile would fall and no more filth would exit that mouth. She acted like she was better than him, like she could fight better, or act cooler, or live better. She was lesser. Just another hateful cuss-puking monster that this world brought upon him. His hands pushed his face on tighter.
Breathe.
He couldn’t remember the last time he felt that way. A serenity draped itself over his shoulders as fate pushed his back down and his knees to buckle. It laid there untouched for a millennium. Or so he thought. Or even wished. An ancient relic all for him, it hinted at past altercations. An artifact that will be his, and his alone. Trembling hands picked it up. Pounds on hidden drums racked inside him, his heart bounced through the ribcage. What he had to do was clear. Two strings tied it to him. A voice. Cutting words tore through him, releasing the tendons and ligaments that held together his brain. A black curtain was removed.
The heavens opened.
The world put its shackles on him from birth, broken nose on entry, scattered gene lines mixed into a mess of skin and connected eyebrows. A bulbous nose that poked eyes out. He was playing with a half hand from the beginning. It wasn’t the age for his kind anymore, in the past his brain alone could drive him far ahead of where he was meant to go. Now it was either the gun or your lips that took you past the glass ceiling. But here in this dilapidated restaurant, as banners and paintings sat in the shadows projected by broken glass, he fixed it all. In a puddle of sewage, he looked upon himself. A stranger stood in his place. He could be just like them. Just like the ones he grew up watching. “Yes, Yes you can” it snuck in through his ranting thoughts. “You can be better.”
Breathe.
His blade hand trembled. Blurred vision only clear at her face. The freckled one. One piece of clarity holding back a sudden drowning. His body shook, forcing back the muscle memory swipes and slashes to calm this urge. The sage spoke a path to follow, they offered another. Sweat trickled down his brow, world spinning with kaleidoscope sight. Crashes of waves against a rocky shore. The cave below was filling with salt water. The storm rolling over, cloud and sea twisting and morphing, one supreme being crawling quickly. Frozen. Storm or pool. Forward or still. The ocean roared at him. Winged angel sung soothing words. Order and chaos, mating. A resistance that could only hold for so long. A choice had to be made.
He was the diver on the board. The captain at the wheel. The hero in front of the cave. He was the chlorine in the water. The reef beneath the surface. The Dragon in the dark. Drown.

Character(s) interacted with

Frit Callagh Clem Roxxanne

Report Date

25 Feb 2019

Primary Location

Yeast Ave