I am nothing

I am nothing. I walk down a crowded city street, no one sees me; no one hears me. I walk down a dark alley; a gang of hooded fiends clearly out to wreak havoc don’t trouble me. They don’t see me. They never heard me.



I sit back and relax in my mouldy ancient armchair, the bright yellow floral pattern now invisible after years of disuse and the colour faded into a constant coffee stain. The rest of the flat was in the same disrepair. The old-fashioned Victorian shutter windows had rusted shut and become covered with a constant fog. The rotted door hung on its hinges after the police or whoever kicked it in. The bathroom was a jungle of insects and everything else that could infest a third floor apartment. The only new items in this long derelict building were my weapons, tools of my war of recognition and a small portable television. It wasn’t much but it was home, it was all I needed; at night I was alone for half a mile in every direction. Almost everybody was scared to go on this abandoned estate, as if the ghost of what once was were still waiting for them.



        The newsreader was in the alley where I had been and he was doing a job of faking sadness. Apparently some “innocent” youths had been gunned down. This guy was good, so good he could fool anybody; even though he was lying through his teeth. The whole thing was caught on camera but the “bizarre” thing was there was no killer; it appeared they had all just dropped dead. I was still a free man. Happily, I drifted into a deep peaceful sleep.



        My dreams are absolutely perfect. I am myself before I fell into this sad existence I have, before this happened. I didn’t have to resort to this for people to recognize I exist. I wake up in my armchair, I was dragged kicking and screaming from the calm serenity of my dreams into this harsh reality. I need another target. I pick up my weapon and charge out into the heavy rain, out on the prowl.



        I am stalking the same city street, my usual hunting ground. The rain thuds down and thrashes up at my legs. The busy worker ants scurry around me desperately trying to get to shelter. I move in a casual stroll, swinging my arms about and waving my gun in the faces of unaware businessmen. These are always good times, the hunt before the kill. There is nothing like fulfilling an addiction and doing the world some good.



        I have found my target, someone worthy of my cleansing. The man I had chosen is cowering under a bus shelter; he is sitting huddled up on a seat. His clothes are dirty and he appears to have not washed in weeks.



        With one hand he is desperately covered himself with newspaper. A last-ditch attempt to beat the rain and cold. With the other he is sentencing his own fate, in his hand; he holds a bottle whiskey. Given a choice he no doubt would sacrifice himself to the freezing cold as long as he could spend his last icy moments alive with his beloved bottle. I began to close in on him.



        I had to run away; I couldn’t believe what I just did. My gun was still in my hand and it was still loaded. I how could I have done that? I had executed people hundreds of times before but never like this, it was always quick and painless. I saw red and gave in to these strange alien urges, feelings I had never felt before. What am I?



        I paused before the kill, I never paused. Never. I dropped my weapon and charged him. I beat him. Mercilessly. I stared down at my hands; they were covered in blood, his blood. I choked him, why? I felt blood, sweat and slaver drip and spill down onto my hands. I watched his eyes bulge, I held him down as he shook until he stopped.



        I regained control of myself, calm after the panic, I didn’t understand what happened. The worst part was the realization that I enjoyed it. I actually enjoyed it. I watched the blood pour from him and I enjoyed it. I had become a slavering beast and I enjoyed it. I fell to my knees, the rain slamming on my back and splashing in my face, I was soaked through in a river of rain water.



        Whatever horror I had felt before just got a lot worse; it had been replaced by a more shocking problem. I was staring at the water; I saw something I hadn’t seen in many years. I was staring at my own reflection, who was this? This wasn’t me? I had become the embodiment of evil.



          How could this be? I had hid in plain sight now for years, so why did I suddenly reappear? I stormed furiously towards my pathetic squat. I didn’t care that the rain thrashed down and soaked me through and I even didn’t care that everybody could see me; the crazed man with the gun.



        I closed my door as best as I could and built a barricade in front of it, anything that didn’t shatter into splinters was propped up against it. I cleared the way for the fire escape, in case I needed a quick exit. I lay on the floor my gun still in my hand and watched the news; sure enough I was in camera. The end was coming. Oddly, I fell into a refreshing sleep, the calm before the storm.



        The banging at the door woke me up. The news reporter from the alley was outside the “suspects” house, He was outside my house. I saw police, hundreds of them, littered about blocking every way out except one; which they would gladly give to me.



        I got up and braced myself for a blood bath. I could sure do with that demonic rage now, I willed myself to become the beast that had got me into this, but it never came; that didn’t matter I could take them all out without it. Cry havoc and let lose the dogs of war.



        I must have been the news reporter’s words that got me. I saw myself as others saw me, I was evil. The men I was prepared to kill would have wives and children. I couldn’t stay this man, even if history knew me as a killer I could still stop the bloodshed now.



        I dropped my gun, the thing that had been a part of me for years; I walked out to the fire escape. At that moment the police broke through with a hail of bullet fire. I moved at a snails pace on the ladders.



        I soon reached the roof, the police were still searching the rest of the building, I was alone. I walked to the edge and looked down; a homeless man lay in a gutter and a group of hooded boys were walking by.



        I took the only life I should have ever taken. I jumped into eternity. As the life poured out of me, I saw the last thing I ever saw--the homeless man and the boys trying in vain to help me. Any other day I would be hunting them, but not now. In this one moment of my life, everything was perfect. Then it turned dark. Now I was hollow. Nothing mattered any more. No matter what people said about me, they all knew I finally killed the right person.



        I am nothing. The homeless man screams for help. Nobody sees me anymore. The hoods come running to my aid. Nobody hears me anymore. I am nothing. I drift into my final peaceful sleep; my dreams are perfect; I am nobody.



Word count 1320