[Lemme know if ya wanna be tagged in future writing I post on here which may include play excerpts, short stories, or poetry! This assignment was a simple one-page short story on any topic.]
He shivers and shakes and cowers and cries. He cannot help but shudder at the rocks raining down on him. Their screams are horrifying. He stumbles and collapses as their screams turn into laughter. Why must hell and hate love him so damn much? Why must his skin have a history of hate and gentrification etched into it like a rough, calloused cavern wall?
Her stomach aches as she watches from afar. It aches one part because food stamps didn’t make it to the end of the month and one part due to watching her brother torn down in front of her. ‘At least it ain’t me,’ she thinks to herself selfishly. Yet it could just as easily be her. They are not brother and sister by blood but by the horrors they have seen. How could it be so that she cannot even remember his name? Perhaps she’ll learn it at a funeral if his family can even afford one. Or perhaps he will just be another unmarked grave in a forgotten portion of the ole church’s graveyard. Give it a decade and he will be overgrown and lost.
Perhaps he will survive and have children and those children will see daddy’s bruises and cuts and callouses. Daddy will either grow into a sweet man whose seen horrible things or a bitter man who does horrible things. Maybe his son will be the first of their family to go to college. Maybe his son will be just another brother lost in an endless war of sin and discrimination, searching for easy money rather than freedom.
His eyes weep blood. He sees her watching and his face begs for mercy.
She cannot bear the sight anymore and leaves.
The kicking stops and he has a second to breathe. A rib must be broken. Or is that pain is arm? Or his nose? Should his nose be at that angle? Everything hurts as he attempts to get up and fails. He feels men spitting on him and he cannot hear anything over them laughing at him. It must be such a silly sight for a man to keep trying to get to his feet yet failing.
His bloodied hands grab hold of the pavement beneath him. They begin to push up. His legs are almost there. He is almost there. He is about at a crab-walking stance before he flops down again. He begins this process over. Once again, he gets decent traction with his hands. He pushes. He is closer now. He is almost to his feet. He is almost there until one of the men in the circle kicks him in the back of his right kneecap.
The sickening crack is drowned out by another chorus of sick laughter. He lays there and sobs. The men leave one by one, each spitting before they exit. They walk away as if nothing of any real importance had occurred.
One man is on his way to work at the local police department. Another is on his way to take his family to the circus who just came to town. One is going to the bank while, yet another is going to a late-night prayer service at his church.
They leave but their victim cannot.
His attempts at breathing are rapid and shallow. His chest aches. He runs his hand down his face and discovers blood trickling down his forehead and from his left eye and his nose. Why the hell is his nose at that angle?
His thoughts get more and more sporadic. He can’t get his mind off his nose. His memory is so fuzzy. What was his mother’s name? Martha? No, not Martha. It begins with an ‘M’ is all he can be sure of as he lays on that now quiet street and waits for help that will never come.
