Hellscape

Nights like these were always nice. The cool air blowing down from the buildings had the scent of tobacco and whiskey. A block and a half away was the red light district. The scent of underground bars would turn sweet as Bradley neared. He was trudging down the sidewalk with his head down, thinking of his most recent mistake. Samantha had been what he thought was the love of his life. One night he decided to get a little too drunk at a party and couldn’t resist the sweet temptation of the cheerleading captain, Brianna Moore. In a few blissful moments, his five-year-long relationship with Samantha crumbled at his feet. Now he was sulking about just days later. His plan was to hit up the part of town that never slept. Maybe his mood could be improved with some other women. He had already drunk a good bit of alcohol. It hadn’t fully set in, but he was already starting to stumble and slur. Continuing his trip, he waited at a crosswalk. The timer seemed slower than usual as it counted down. Ten seconds felt like thirty to Bradley’s intoxicated mind. He glanced over at the street sign, glaring at the text. It read that he was on 5th Street. He continued to stare at it, not realizing the signal to walk had been turned on. He noticed and quickly jogged across the crosswalk. Walking for another minute or two, he arrived at the next intersection. The timer was on for ten seconds. He groaned loudly. There was almost no one outside at this hour. He glanced at the street sign as he made the decision to walk across anyway. He was only half a block away and figured he wouldn’t get into trouble. At the next intersection, he had to turn left. He rounded the corner to find a group of men sitting on a set of steps. This wasn’t a particularly dangerous place, but thugs were known to show up every so often. He kept his head down and kept walking. The man in the middle of the group glanced up at Bradley, smirking. He tossed his cigarette in Bradley’s direction. “Hey,” the man said, “come here a sec and let's have a chat.” Bradley stopped walking for a moment. “Not interested,” Bradley said flatly before continuing to walk. Another man chimed in “Hey didn’t ya mom ever teach ya any manners? It ain’t very polite to walk away when someone’s talking to ya.” Bradley kept his pace as he continued to walk. One of the men grabbed a bottle, throwing it at Bradley. It hit him in the back, breaking to pieces as it hit the ground. He sighed and turned around. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to throw things? Or was she too busy gettin’ f****d by the mailman?” Bradley said. The men glanced at each other seriously, some getting a smirk across their faces. One man turned to another, hitting him on the chest. With a laugh, the man told his friend “You hear that, Richie? Your mom’s gettin' f****d by the mailman.” All the other men laughed. The man who had thrown the bottle stood up and began approaching Bradley. “Listen here punk. Ain’t no one talk about my momma and get away with it.” The man exclaimed. Bradley was still a good ten or fifteen paces from the man when he saw that he had pulled out a small knife. The man stopped his approach. “Give me what you have and maybe I’ll go on about my night.” The man said. Bradley sighed, squatting down to pick up a piece of the broken bottle. “I think I’ll take my chances,” He said. The men didn’t know that Bradley had grown up fighting. From a young age, he studied grappling, MMA, and even using some weapons. His dad was an ex-cop and always told him that knowing how to fight was essential. He had done advanced classes in knife fighting and even some classes with swords. He knew his way around any gun he could get his hands on. He had no doubt he could take the man in front of him, but there were four other men behind him who probably had weapons as well. The smart thing to do was run, but he was intoxicated and riled up. He looked the man up and down. He was probably in his early thirties. His face was rough with hair, and his head was topped with a hat. He had a cigarette in his mouth and was flicking it up and down anxiously with his tongue. He wore a brown coat and worn black pants. His work boots had also seen some years. His frame was broad but not bigger than Bradley's. Bradley stood six foot three and two hundred and twenty pounds. This man was a few inches shorter and whatever weight he had was covered by his large jacket. The other men behind him on the steps had similar styles and builds. Richie began striding toward Bradley, gaining speed with every step. Bradley stood still, wavering side to side a bit. He had thought that this should help him to sober up. Richie lunged quickly at Bradley. Countering, Bradley turned his body and grabbed Richie’s wrist. In one fluid motion, Richie was on the ground with his arms behind his back, still gripping the small knife. The other men looked at the scene exasperatingly. Two other men got up and ran toward the brawl, one tackling him and the other helping Richie to his feet. Bradley quickly got the other man off of him. Getting to his feet, he prepared to fight. Still holding onto the bottle, Bradley lunged at the men who were coming at him. The first man tried to tackle Bradley once again but was met with searing pain in his upper back. Bradley ripped the bottle from his back, shoving the man to the ground. The next man slipped behind Bradley, trying to hold him still. Richie lunged with his knife, sticking it into his abdomen. Bradley yelled out in pain, which quickly turned to anger. He slammed the back of his head into the man that was behind him, hearing the distinct cracking of a nose. He ripped himself free, grabbing Richie’s arm. He pulled the knife from his torso and began plunging it into Richie’s body. Large amounts of blood soaked through the man’s clothes as they wrestled. Finally, Richie’s strength ran out as his body went limp. The man behind him was kneeling down holding his nose in his hand as blood spewed from it. Bradley wasted no time as he kicked the man across the head, knocking him unconscious. He followed through with a knife to the man's throat. Blood bubbled from his throat as he aspirated. Bradley had never killed anyone before, but all he could see was red. His rage had boiled over long ago. He looked at the other man who sat on the ground shaking in fear. He hadn’t attacked Bradley, and he hadn’t seemed capable. Bradley glared at him, nodding his head to the side. The man understood and took off running. His gaze turned to the staircase where the other two men were. Their eyes widened with horror. They had been too stunned to move. Bradley walked up to the cigarette that was lying on the ground, picked it up, and placed it back in the man's open mouth. The man looked up at Bradley’s bloodied face and was met with a masquerading smirk. The other two men scurried down the sidewalk like stray cats. Bradley walked over to the man he had learned was Richie. His breathing was fast and shallow, his eyes flickering around maniacally. Blood still seeped out of his wounds. If he didn’t get medical treatment immediately then he would die. Bradley didn’t care. He frowned at Richie who lay sprawled out on the ground. The man’s lips quivered as he struggled to speak. His skin had gone pale and he started to sweat as he went into shock from the blood loss. He met his eyes with Bradley before croaking out one last thing. “See you in Hell.” Bradley looked at the man. His eyes seemed to fade as his life did. His breathing slowed down until it halted and his whole body went still. Bradley stared for another moment. “This life is Hell.” He said before turning to walk away. Bradley continued his walk down the road, his heart racing. The thoughts of killing raced through his mind. He was more worried that he hadn’t felt bad for doing it. He had been in many fights over the years, and he knew there was always a chance of killing someone. Maybe, he thought, his mind had steeled itself. That may have been true, but there was always a part of him that yearned for it. He cleared his mind and kept walking. Sirens wailed in the distance in the direction he had come from. The other men must have called for help, he thought. No matter to him, though, he was ready for whatever was coming. He hated himself for what he did to Samantha. He thought he didn’t deserve to be happy. All he wanted was a chance to prove that he could be a better person. He wasn’t always the best character in high school. It wasn’t that he bullied others, it was that he was unapproachable. Always covered in bruises, he would usually be all alone. All of his current friends who weren’t scared of him went off to college right after they graduated. It had been two summers already. He rarely got to see them, and without Samantha, he was all alone. Deeper into thought he fell, mindlessly walking down the sidewalk. The repercussion of his actions is not what bothered him, but he just had this uneasy feeling circulating in his body. As he walked around the next corner he stopped. He had a wrenching feeling in his gut. The air grew hot around him as he saw his vision fragmenting. He fell to his knees. His head started to feel like it was splitting, and his muscles ached. His heart could have beat from his chest. He fell into a fetal position as he yelled out in agony. His vision went black and his body went limp. Bradley laid out on the street falling unconscious from the pain. His only thoughts were those of regret.