29 July 2012
*16+ etc, etc.
The city is thriving today, bright and curious eyes, lovers holding hands, sharing jokes, melodic laughter... Today, their voices work to depress me even more than usual.
They revel in the sunshine, ice cream cones in their hands. Sunglasses on their faces dulling their already short sighted vision.
Last night, like many nights a man died in my arms. I sat on the stone cold pavement behind Gino's Bar and held this man in my arms as I watched the blood spill out of his body and paint the weeds which had spurted out of cracks in the pavement a dark red.
I watched his brown eyes fade away, and like the weeds in the pavement his body wilted as the remaining grains of life escaped his body.
Unlike the resilient weeds in the pavement, this man was gone, he would not resprout. He was gone...forever.
The black hole of sadness in my gut grew deeper as I stared into this man's dead eyes.
I took a closer look at this man, he was most likely in his mid thirties, average looking, average build. I searched his pockets and retrieved his wallet, pulling out the driving license inside.
Mark Smith, 102 Willow Lane, 02/05/1979.
I rummaged some more. I found a small folded photo, two blond boys, possibly five or six years old.
I placed the photo on his stomach before standing up and removing the short dagger from his chest.
The jewels on it's hilt looked dull in the dark. I wrapped the dagger in a small square of cloth before placing it in my bag. I took one last look at Mark Smith and walked away.
I made my way home through the back streets, it took almost an hour. When I got in, I poured myself a stiff drink before walking over to my desk and placing the driving license I had retrieved earlier on its weathered surface. I removed the dagger from my bag, and with the blood now drying on it's tip, I carved an X into the license.
I wiped the dagger clean, my dagger. And placed it on it's stand.
Goodbye Mark Smith, thief, abuser, rapist.
Diary Of A Hero • Opuss № I