Write On Wednesday
That strange experience of acting out,
That strange experience of acting out,
what we have seen played across the tattered cinematic screens of our minds.
And knowing it's all wrong.
The city was silent as it was steadily consumed by the cool night. The silhouettes of wanderers prominent. Intent stares swung back and forth, scanning your surroundings was habitual, but when they rested on him and watched as he passed by... His unease was only intensified by the constant mutterings that infiltrated the air.
His name repeated itself. A brief second of eye contact.
Another glance in his direction sent his nerves itching.
His brain panicked when footsteps sounded too close behind him.
Every shadowed crevice along the street welcomed a new degree of paranoia.
He was completely vulnerable and it flooded him with dread; the inevitable nature of retribution tormenting him.
Lighting a cigarette just to give his hands something to do, Blazor found himself too preoccupied with his own nervousness to even inhale the dark fumes. A
Needing another distraction he peered through the splintered screen of his mobile, the number of missed calls and unread messages an unsympathetic warning of the impeding confrontation.
One of the nameless sauntered past, their shoulder thumping into his and unbalancing his possessed train of thought. The vagrant brandished a knowing sneer at Blazor's reaction to the contact before moving on.
He couldn't take it.
The tension was overwhelming to the point that it evolved into irritation and progressed into anger. He wasn''t sure if it was fear driven impulse or some form of determination that provoked him to abandon his evasive wanderings through the streets and face the threat looming over him.
The rusted chain link fence around the warehouse exhibited a myriad of fissures; a skeleton of security. Blazor weaved through with routine coordination, his body following the ritual that had once governed his life. There was no time to consider what he was about to do, he knew reason would dissuade him if he let it.
They were all there. Blazor could feel his hatred for them surfacing; their life, their habits, what they did to her. It was like peering behind a curtain to find something you sensed was always there but had forgotten. He recognised the one he had never trusted, carrying himself with the usual arrogance mingled with whatever he had been smoking. And he threw his compressed fist at him.
"You're so bloody dead yeah" his opponent spat, uncertainty flitting across his face as he scrambled back to his feet.
"At least I won't have to look at scum like you Duke"
The crowd gathered in anticipation, most too stoned to realise what was actually occurring, others hysterical with the thrill of the unexpected. Blazor had had enough of pleasantries, he knew Duke had every advantage but didn't care. He was going to walk away from all of this.
The collision was chaotic; each blow hummed with aggression that was bordering on riotous. Instinct and experience were irrelevant during the onslaught, only the ability to uphold a constant barrage of force seemed to make the difference. Nothing was controlling the flood of violence; all knew it would be an unrestrained assault. Ultimately the brawl ended before the bloodlust did.
Blazor left Duke where he had fallen; a bruised mass collapsed upon itself. He found shallow breaths escaping his lungs as he stooped to
"He's no Duke" he murmured to the skulking bodies gathered round, "and my name isn't Blazor".
They all watched him. From the corners of their eyes, beneath their hoodies, from the alleyways.
He didn't care.
It was strange how quickly everything had been thrown upside down, how a familiar world had suddenly vanished and left him on the outside. But being on the outside had its advantages, he didn't have to live by that world anymore.
As he wandered the streets quiet and still, his mind blundered incoherently, and a thought stood alone. He would be a nomad and find what he needed, he would sacrifice all he had like she had wanted, so he could walk away.
Put a name to the face of the voice inside my head.