Whiskey and Blood
There was whiskey and there was blood.
A little bit of both were frozen to my forehead. My feet slid about a foot and almost out from under me as I tried to make the quick turn in the ally. Big men like me were not designed to chase the little folk.
Everything was smoke. My hands, speckled with red and brown were angry and hot. Everything seemed to be freezing. I see them, all of them, through the steam and blue night air. I wiped some from my eye.
I started to chase.
My boots were sticking, every step felt like my soles were melting to the ground. It was slowing me down. I couldn’t breathe.
Why are you running from me?
Why won’t you fight me?
I’m so confused.
I am so tired.
I just need to get this out of me. I need this release. Please.
There were so many of them, a dozen at least. Sure, they hadn’t done all that much to me, but I wouldn’t really hurt all of them before they took me down, and I needed this so badly. I certainly couldn’t kill anyone. It would end the way it should. Some of them would be whimpering a little as the rest of them overwhelmed me and stomped me out.
I knew I wouldn’t die. They were just a group of preppy fratty date rapists. No real men. No real danger. They would get to say they took big john down, and I would get this demon out of me.
Well, at least for one night. Maybe I would even sleep.
I am so tired.
I never understood why one would pick a fight with someone they can surely take, or frighten, or really hurt. If you can do it, easily at that, why bother? You know that just makes you an asshole. You always fight up. If you are not a pussy that is. If you don’t know the guy/guys you are only fighting yourself anyway. If you can’t really let go, if you can’t really get to the edge, if you don’t get that release, what’s the fucking point? You’re just a bully, and I hate bullies.
12 guys? I can’t take 12 guys. It was a rough day. I had done a bad thing to a good person. I needed a beating.
I didn’t get it. I had to eat what I had done and it still sits in my gut like small fire.
I was asked recently why I do what I do. It’s hard, painful, torturously boring, and I am not very good at it.
I do it because I am too old to fight 12 guys in an ally.
I do it because I still need to get that release.
I need to fight up.
I need to sleep.
I am so tired.
