Destiny

Destiny.
Fate.
The boxing ring.
A world stage of embarrassment and humiliation.
One success.
One failure.
Proving a Point?
The reason for war?
How did it come to this?
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I lay there, cold, damp and alone. War was over! The battle was won. But still alone. Scared. Why was I alone?
Surrounding me, the dead leaves of a barren wasteland danced ecstatically along the scarlet ground. They absorbed the dripping moisture, then, prancing to the next spot, deposited the chilling mixture on an empty patch of land. I watched this pattern, dazzled. What memories...
Sitting alone in an empty kitchen, my next adventure about to unfold. The paint set, hidden from me, had just been found. No one could stop me now. Not even him. Father, dearest, my beloved hatred soaring. I paused for a minute. Above screams shattered the silence. My silence.
I knew what was happening. The routine attacks had once scared me, angered me, but then, after a while, I knew. I couldn’t do a damned thing. I didn’t want the pain, the torture... the humiliation. So I moved on.
A walking contradictory. That’s me. Fifty years later, I would tell people closest to me to do what was right. Fight for what they believe in. But my childhood was broken, a jigsaw missing its heart. Her.
My paint set. My prized possession.
The blood-red leaves reminded me of hand painting.
I soaked my innocent hands in the rainbow bath, covering every inch of each hand. This freedom wouldn’t last long. He would be bored soon. A fierce, vicious, excitable predator on the loose. With this thought, I withdrew my hands, placing them firmly on the clean parchment below. Then I drew, imagination slipping through the cracks of stone prison gates. Castles. Mountains. Fields.
Corpses. The flashback had allowed a brief glimpse of a better time, but now hell approached my door, stalking through my melancholy garden. Paralysis and shock regained control of my fearless body, refusing to raise and see the devastation caused by one man: the coward lay next to me.
The sand in the hourglass melted to a thin liquid, slowly slipping between my fingers; it felt as if hours had flown by, graceful swans in the scarlet reservoir. Eventually, the guilty pressure, forced down from the open skies, began to release me. I flexed my fingers, enjoying the warmth pleasures and sensations rushing along my spine.
My head raised, I saw the striking innocence of the battlefield. Rotting corpses being shredded by such elegant vultures. Delicious blood seeping into the stale earth, feeding the parched weeds, rats and vermin.
Claustrophobia slapped my face with a sudden burst, knocking all breathe from my insides. Disgraceful, disgusting, oil guzzling skyscrapers on either side, pressing down on me, monsters even Frankenstein wouldn’t have dreams of. It makes me sick! All of this, so that a greedy businessman can look down from the heights on his empire. Much similar to me, twenty years ago, if I remember correctly. NO!
I can’t compare myself to them, those fickle fiends. Criminals, that’s what they are. I’m a bank robber, a murderer, a traitor, but those were selfless acts. I did them to save others, many others. But they didn’t agree.
Of course, some did.
My entrance to the American Underground. Where real decisions were made. Where real wars were fought. I found my friends, comrades, allies. They helped, at first, but soon I couldn’t stand it. The smell. Sewerage. Excretion. So I...
did something. And what did they do? Turned on me, their own flesh and blood, attacking me. Vultures. I destroyed them, took what I needed. And left. Back to civilisation.
Maybe I could floor a building. One of the tall ones, the rollercoaster menaces. I want to break something, hurt somebody. I picked up a corpse. Timothy Twist. Good guy. When he was alive, of course.
He was next to me at the bar. Timmy ‘One-Shoe’ Twist, pineapple cocktail in his hand. ‘We’re in the middle of a bloody city, not the Caribbean’ I thought. Eurgh, pineapples. A childhood delicacy.
A solitary grenade. My last one. I placed it under the human barricade below the building, the timer attached. And then I walked away, kicking a few pebbles with my bare feet, no acceptance of pain.
My pals, accomplices, foes watched eagerly. What would I do next?
That gentle stroll down the infested street, skip in my step, swing in my arms. What a dance! I could dance until I dropped, but not alone. No, not alone. Not now she had left me. The rotten, cheating scum. I GAVE HER EVERYTHING!
Time to plan. The next one had to be bigger. More deaths. More explosions. They had to pay, with their lives. For doing this to the world, to themselves, to me. They would suffer. Especially her, sat on her emerald throne, the pearly gates to her heart closed only to me. I would live to see all of them pay.
My life fell apart when my paint set died.