Bloodsinger

         I'm swing my way down to Central Park to take in some natural beauty after a long, brutal night of taking out the city's trash. The blackish cables of muscle fly effortlessly through the skin of my palms seeking surfaces to latch onto. Their hardened points open like a flower just before impact to reveal the soft, sticky inside that anchors me as I surge into the next downward arc. I flex, they flex. All my muscles synchronized to launch me ever forward to my destination.The wind caresses my exoderm, a second skin formed by my mutation at age eleven. It is livery, armour, and when I need it, clothing. Looking like clothing but as strong as chitin it keeps me agile and protected. I developed many new features during at puberty beyond hair and live loads. As whole they help me survive and made this last night, and all the prior nights like it, possible.

         I'm not an orphan driven by revenge or a boy learning the truth of power and responsibility. I chose this path because I'm good at it and I hate asshole and lowlifes. I was abused three ways by two parents, bullied by classmates and finally, assaulted along with my young wife and six month old daughter by some fuckhead nutjob with a knife. I decided that I was tired of sons of bitches fucking preying on people just because they've got some screw loose in their head. So now, I find them during one their "moments" and fuck their little worlds up. I don't always kill the asshole in question, only when it's the only way to solve the problem. When I fight I fight hot, rage and panic fueling each other. The wicked sharp blades of bone sprout between the first two and last two fingers of each fist. It's agonizing when they pop and the agony drives me onward. Cables lash out to grab, claws lash out to rend and, when I feel my point's been made, I go back along my merry way. I'm nearing 69th St. and I can smell the change in the air, less smoke, more humanity. Olfactory overload winds up giving me alot of headaches. Smell and just a little prescience give me fair enough warning most times to keep me from serious harm, most times. When that fails, my regenerative ability keeps me from dying, for too long. I've never been clinically dead, but I have been mostly dead alot of times.

         The parks in sight now. Looks beautiful from up here. I swing around the corner of bulding to land on it's wall. Catching my breath I survey the panorama. A moment's rest then I flex my enhanced musculature and leap. The force of my jump carries me over the street and beyond the edge of the lawn to land finally at Central Park. Stick around, if you like. As for me, I'm gonna change my clothes as I take a much needed walk in the park.