Reflections - Something A Little Different - Monday, 06 July 2009 at 11:32

I went walking last night.

Above the Marine Drive, I scanned from the castle across to Scalby Manor. I felt my skin grow cold and clammy to the touch. I grabbed my arm, god knows why, maybe just to try and rub some life into this husk of a shell I wear.

I stared at my hand as I moved it, and it stopped in front of the moon, a perfect symbol of unity. I realised I was smiling, and the cool sea breeze deadened my fever. I began to reevaluate, thinking perhaps I was too harsh in my constant hatred of society. Things seemed pretty good from here.

I took one final look at the calm vista, and turned around.

I was confronted with empty, run-down hotels. I felt myself beginning to shake again, as I remembered why I held my world views.

Man. That was the problem. Man.

A prime example of manhood was sat at the steps of one of the particularly soul-destroying buildings. He was in his 40's, dressed in a baseball cap, wearing tracksuit top and bottoms. He was rolling a cigarette lazily, and I noticed LOVE and HATE were tattooed on his knuckles. I looked around and saw no-one.

I looked upward, and saw no cameras. I stared back down at my quarry, and clenched my hands into white fists of rage. I thought over all the things people like this had done. I remembered seeing 8-10 of people dressed the same way jumping on the head of a 13 year old girl. Thoughts like this were good. They gave me focus. A cold calm came over me. I stared up at the moon one last time, grinned, and walked up to the man.

When he noticed me, he stopped laughing, though the smile remained on his face. I started to laugh. He continued to just look at me, smiling. My laugh grew in strength, as I noticed the "No Vacancies" sign in the derelict hotel. The guy just kept sitting and smiling. Eventually, my humour cooled, and I sat down. I was feeling a little better, so I got out a cigarette of my own, and lit it. The smoke filled my lungs, and the rage I felt dissipated slightly.

I had drifted off, but snapped back into life as the guy spoke to me. "Giss one o' them." he slurred. As he spoke, his right eye continued to open and close half-way, while his left remained completely focused on me. It was unnerving to say the least. Then the smell of this guy hits me. His hot, sweaty, whiskey rotted breath rasped into my face. I leant back involuntarily, grimacing at the drunk as fluids drooped from both his mouth and his nose.

I held up the pack to him. "Last one, man sorry." I started to put the pack away, when suddenly I was on my back. The piss-head had just hit me. He was surprisingly quick, and I wasn't, so he had hit me about four more times before I had got onto my feet. He staggered back, the energy of punching me damaging him much more than me. I lazily rub at my jaw with one hand, and with the other I flick out a quick jab to his nose.

I don't have the strength I used to have. I'm lucky if I can move a barrel of beer without grimacing. But sometimes you just get a lucky punch. My jab connected, and his nose crunched down and to the left.

"FOOKAH!" he spluttered, holding his nose. I laughed again at the man, who couldn't even stop the blood from spurting between his fingers. This was great. Now I understand the people who do this sort of thing on a weekly basis.

It's a drug, an addiction, like any other. The adrenaline I felt, the bloodlust, as this prime specimen of humanity was wounded, was shown to be weak. I saw the drunk notice my realisation, maybe he even came to the same one himself. His eyes grew wide in disbelief. In my mind, I could just imagine what those eyes were saying.

"What the fuck? This doesn't usually happen! Usually I get my cigarette! Usually they have the blood!" Maybe I was still high after all. I advanced again towards the shit, and picked it up in my hands. I slapped his hands away from his nose. He cried out but offered no resistance. I gently took hold of his stubbled, slimy face, and turned it up towards my own. I smiled, and like the retard he is, he smiled back at me.

After I headbutted him, I walked away. I sat on the road outside The Albert, and opened the pack of cigarettes I had concealed in my coat. Shaking, I flicked the lighter, and gazed upon my relfection in a car as the sparks illuminated my ghastly visage.

Bits of blood, mucous, and god knows what else were covering my face and hands. Inhaling, I stand up and look closer at myself in the car. I look deep into my eyes. I notice that the reflection of my eyes has it's own reflection, and I stare at that, holding the lighter up close to my face. The person I see in that reflection is not myself.

He has a similar face, and hairstyle, but when I moved, he did not. I was brought back to reality once again, this time by bright blue lights, and cacophonous sirens. I considered running away, but then realised that I felt proud of my crime, and wanted the world to know. I stood up, and started walking back towards where I had left my victim.

An ambulance blazed by. It parked ahead of me, and two paramedics ran out to the body. I sat down on the wall opposite the scene, smoked and watched. It took them about 40 minutes to get the guy into the ambulance. The drunk woke up as they were moving him, and started trying to run off. They calmed him down, and drove off.

I finished my cigarette, and walked over to where I had taken my new drug. A pool of blood lay stagnant on cracked tiles, and once more, lighter in hand, I gazed at my reflection of a reflection.