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(His tale II)

The night was calm, a light breeze struck his cheek as the screaming of the music filled the house in front of him. It wasn't a big house but the amount running in and out like mice in a bakery made no one give a second thought to a stranger walking in.

He hesitated, having second thoughts. "Was he crazy? Was he really going through with this?" If he walked through that door there was no going back. He backed up a bit, closed his eyes and took a deep breath thinking back to that night. The night when it all started, when his life ended.

The air was fresh and cool, refreshing compared to the pulsating atmosphere in the night club. The first snow hasn't fallen yet but the cold covered the ground like a thick invisible fog. He wanted to go home but not him. He wanted to eat. He could never say no to those deep dark eyes. He reluctantly agreed and they went further into the night joking and laughing totally oblivious to the three following them, covered by darkness.

He wanted to say that he fought back but the truth is he never even got his hands up. The bottle that split his skull open, left him weak and disoriented. He fell towards the ground as he watched them run up to him from behind striking him in the back of the head with a metal pipe, The blow forced him to the concrete. They were upon him before he hit the ground. Pushing and kicking, the blood staining the ground, rushing out from his nose and scar painted his hair red. 

He ran up to them but the headache was too unbearable, he stumbled and fell once again. The pain screeched through his body when his side hit the ground. There wouldn't be a second try because a man was already over him throwing hits. He tried blocking with his arms but couldn't hold his guard up when the second came over and started throwing kicks at his head. The man sitting on him kept shouting and calling them the usual.

“Faggots, fucking gays, Cock Suckers”, The other more creative swear words didn't he hear for the ringing in his ear deafened out most of the sounds except for his lovers begging, pleading and threating.

Every hit that landed against his body took a piece of his sanity.

His gaze returned to the house and decided it's now or never. He shoved his hand into his jacket pocket and felt for his way out.

The air was heavy behind the door, filled with smoke and toxicity. The house was packed, all kinds of personality. He saw groups of women and men checking out each other from across the room playing two different games with the other not knowing the rules. He walked past old men with way to young girls on their lap.

He looked all around the bottom floor after his target but he was nowhere to be found.

The loud music increased the ringing in his ear, it felt like the walls were closing in. All he wanted was to get out of there but first he needed to finish this.

He climbed the stairs while walking over and past people intoxicated and stoned. He couldn't breath, the air was as thick as blood, like the blood that stained his knuckles when they hit his cheek. Punch after punch taking his vision with every time the pain making the darkness

thicker around him. He couldn't remember his face but that ugly ass tattoo on his throat, it was a skull wielding two revolvers.. .

The second floor was no different than the first in quantity, the balcony was packed with smokers but not the one he was searching for. He walked from room to room in disbelief. He was about to abort and head down when he heard that laugh that froze his heart, with it followed a "faggots" that tensed his muscles.

Walking back to the room he recently left he caught sight of him sitting on a couch with a young girl in his lap. she couldn't be older than fifteen.

The room was filled with people but even with the loud music and movement all around him his focus was on him,"throat Skull”. He wanted to run over and almost did but stopped himself. He needed to be smart, patient. Waiting for his change. Like a lion sneaking up on an unaware gazel. He grabbed a half empty drink and leaned up against the wall keeping Throat skull in his view. 

He blinked and stood in the nightclub leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand watching Robin dancing with some of their friends. He never liked dancing which led to Robin hitting the dancefloor with the more charismatic females in their social circle.

In the beginning of their relationship he pretended to enjoy jumping together with a bunch of sweaty strangers. But pretending doesn't work in the long run and eventually Robin saw through his bluff but never got mad and hadn't forced him to dance ever since.

He smiled to himself when the memory filled his chest with warmth but lost it quickly when he noticed the strange looks he received. The memory vanished when he realized Throat skull was sitting alone.

It's now or never. He quickly reduced the distance between them. While walking through the room he dug his hand down his pocket edging the top of the knife. “You can do this” He ended up in front of Throat skull, he looked up at him with a questioning look on his stupid face.

  • Can I help you, Pal? 

He didn't answer, he just stood there staring down at him with the sweat dripping down his back. 

"Come on, you can do it." 

  • Excuse me, buddy... Are you deaf or something? 

Throat skull got up to his feet with an annoyed look on his face. "Just do it. Like the Youtube video showed you. Between the third and fourth left rib."

  • You have a problem. Cock sucker? 

"That's it!" He shoved the knife in the side. He was surprised how easy the blade slid through his shirt and flesh. The face Throat skull gave was a mix of confusion and fear. The blood flowed down his leg as he realized who was standing in front of him.

  • Faggot... 

"Say something"...

But he didn't know what to say and soon the moment had passed because the color on his face disappeared and he fell to the floor.

He didn't know what to say so he just left. Leaving the knife in Throat Skull's ribcage. His hands shook when he jumped off the porch and vomited on the front lawn. A drunk guy standing by the stairs asked.

  • long night?
  • Yeah, something in that style.
  • Tell me about it. My girlfriend broke up...

But before he had the chance to finish his sentence he already walked off heading towards the bright lights of the city. Clutching a piece of paper and drawing over something written. The wind started to speed up. As the fresh air calmed his twitching nerves he whispered.

  • One gone, two to go. 

R.J Rosengrim


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