• First, a jab to the neck, then, a kick for the stomach; that was all it took, after I side-stepped from the stab attempt. The thug was sent crashing to the cold concrete with a thud and a pained groan that followed quickly after. The knife that was so determined to claim a victim ricocheted off the wall and clanked on the ground with its disarmed owner. I straightened myself and scoffed before treading back along the walkway to my home.

    “That’s the third time this week,” I grunted, kicking a small pebble along as I walked. “Where do these guys keep coming from?” Though it was true, Beldum’s criminal count had dramatically decreased over the last couple of years, there was still the occasional rebellious spirit to deal with. “At least it’s not as bad as it used to be…” Frowning, my memory trailed back to the first juvenile encounter I had as a child.
    ______________________________________________________________

    Fourth grade…

    My history class at Beldum Elementary was having a special field trip to the city’s famous museum to do a class report on the history of Beldum City. It was a long trip, stretching into the evening due to an unexpected situation concerning two students and a priceless item – the two children were fighting over who would ride in the very back seat in the bus on the way home. A stupid reason, yes. Well, as it turns out, directly in the path of their altercation, was a very important item – a jewel, which inspired Bruce Beldum to found the city.

    Cleary a very important artifact...

    The kids collided with the artifact during their little brawl and knocked the diamond to the ground, causing it to chip slightly. Not only were they all banned from the museum, the school was forced to pay a fine for damaging government property.

    Detention became an understatement at this point.
    ______________________________________________________________

    “You gonna be alright son? It’s a long walk from here, and it’s pretty dark out,” the bus driver held the door open to let my ten-year-old self off onto the curb.

    Nights in the complex city weren’t the most… serene of sorts. In the past two years alone, civilians have endured over a hundred incidences, including robbery, murder, and sexual harassment…to the extreme. The police couldn’t handle the constant troubles any longer; some of them even quitting due to the pressure. With little to no law enforcement, the city was on the brink of bedlam.

    “No thank you, ma’am, I’ll be fine on my own,” I presented a weak smile to the worried bus driver.

    “Well alright then,” she frowned. “Be safe, alright?”

    I nodded slightly. “Yes ma’am, bye.” And with that, I turned to leave.

    “Yeah, be careful, Angel.”

    My body stilled, hearing the sarcastic tone of another student.

    “It’d be really bad if you got kidnapped on the way home, huh?” a slight chuckle blended with the boy’s words. I remained silent, biting my quivering lower lip and clutching my history book tighter than I should have. A few other kids laughed at the boy’s mocking, adding salt to the deepening wound.
    The boy leaned further out the window, ignoring the bus driver’s previous warning.

    “What’s wrong Cupid, not gonna say anything?”

    That nickname again…

    Yes, my name was a bit…different. But why did they have to call me that? Every time I heard that name, I would cringe instantly. I hated being ridiculed. I was used to it…but I hated it.

    “William, be quiet and sit down!” the older woman bellowed, struggling to turn around in her seat-belt. “Angel, are you sure you’ll be alright?”

    “Y…yeah,” my voice stammering, I let out a shaky breathe, trying very hard to keep from crying.

    Shaking her head, the bus driver slowly pulled the sliding door to a close and drove off.

    I didn’t turn to look at the departing bus. I still stood at that same spot, struggling to push back the tears as I sobbed a bit. I always wondered why the other kids treated me so differently. What’s wrong with being quiet, I asked myself. Eventually, I managed to compose myself and I started down the walkway.

    A left turn, then a right turn, then across the street.

    It was a longer trip than I had expected. The street lights graciously illuminated each of my timid steps. I stared down at my glowing shoes most of the way. I went on; unaware that I wasn’t treading this path alone.

    After a few minutes of walking, I turned my head, just enough to see the outline of my stalker. His steps quickened. I could feel the figure smirking at me; waiting for his chance to attack. I assured myself with false hope. Don’t worry. Just stay calm and keep moving. You’ll make it, as long as you don’t panic. My mind told me to stay calm, but my body wouldn’t respond to the advice. I trembled noticeably with every step. The wicked laughter behind me didn’t help at all.

    “Scared?” the low voice taunting me, as if telling me it’s over; there’s no escape from this. “Don’t worry kid. I won’t hurt you. You might not even feel a thing.”

    At that moment, I abandoned all rationality and ran, holding my text book close as if it were my only protection. I ran without looking back.

    It was only a short while, but if felt like I had been running for hours. My feet hurt, but I didn’t stop…I couldn’t. I didn’t know whether or not I was still being chased. But turning around was not an option. If only I had glanced at the ground. I suddenly found myself lifting off the ground. Had I been caught?

    I was falling, having stumbled over a large crack in the concrete. I held my bleeding knee, whimpering from the pain. The footsteps became louder in their progress. I had to get up. It hurt so much, but I had to get up. Forcing me back down to the ground, the man loomed over me, pulling a pocket knife from his back pocket. He teasingly held the blade near my face; a sly grin forming in his lips. The sinister gleam of the knife was brought on by the watchful streetlights which were beginning to dull. I allowed a pleading sob to escape my throat as I watched the weapon inch closer to my neck. The man began to talk again, causing me to shudder.

    “You know kid, every time I kill someone…” he paused, taking the knife away slightly. “I have trouble figurin’ out how to go about each death. Do I go for the neck?” He brought the knife back to my throat as he spoke. “Or do I go for the heart. It’s too hard to choose because quick kills can be so boring, you know? But hey, I got a good heart. Since you’re still in diapers, I’ll make it quick and painless.” He chuckled and pressed the sharp edge slightly against the side of his soon-to-be victim’s neck, receiving a pained wince from my ten-year-old self.

    I no longer knew what to do. Crying wouldn’t save me. Screaming wouldn’t save me. I was really going to die here. Die at the hands of a common criminal. Suddenly, I felt my face twist up from despair into hatred. Hatred for those kids on the bus. Hatred for my parents, who tore my life in half every day. And most of all, hatred for myself for being so weak; so insignificant. I was tired, angry, scared. And I wasn’t going to let this happen!

    Closing my eyes tight, I lifted my right leg with as much force as my body would allow. It connected with the man’s groin, causing him to jolt up, screaming and cursing from the sudden pain. It took me a few seconds to realize what I had done before glancing over at the pocket knife that he had dropped in his agony. Acting quickly, I grabbed the weapon and rose, charging toward the distracted criminal.

    A sudden fire welled up inside me. I never had this courage before. Where did it come from all of a sudden? Was it from all those years of torment brought on by my classmates; my parents? Was it the fear of my life ending right here…of course that was a reason. In any case, I got up. I was determined to walk away from this…or run, if need be.

    The man regained his composure and turned sharply, only to have his world sent into a cold, slow spiral. The pain in his side was real. He gazed upon the red scene, hogging the lower side of his abdomen; the blade that immediately affixed itself within his flesh. Blood spilled along the dull silver edge, and dripped off onto the cold pavement. It oozed out rapidly; some of it pouring out onto my hands and wrists. I firmly held both hands on the handle of the knife, thinking that if I were to let go, he would spring back to life and finish me off.

    Blood felt so weird. It was thicker than any other liquid substance I had ever seen. I imagined it would be a bright red, as fluid as water. This particular excretion was a much darker red; almost purple. It was also a little sticky, like milk when it dried up. This wasn’t the red, watery stuff that I had imagined it to be.

    Cartoons lied to me.

    I felt a cold sensation jolt me from my revelation. One of his fingers brushed along my collarbone as he reached forward, trying to grasp my shoulder. He fell forward, sprawled out on the ground like a baby intent on his deep sleep. His eyes remained open; staring coldly at me with disapproval. I look into those dead, blank orbs fixed in the center of his darkened sclera and I jerked my head away. He was so cold to the touch. He didn’t move. His blood spread, almost encircling his whole body; it poured lazily onto the street and into a drainage duct.

    He was dead. I killed him.

    Eyes wide with terror, guilt, pain, I got to my feet slowly and found myself still staring at the corpse that wanted so badly for me to swap places with it. I shook my head, forcing the tears back inside my sockets, and I ran.

    I ran home…I didn’t look back.