Stolen Identity

The cold wind picked up leaves and shook branches as it blew. The moon was reaching its peak as it illuminated everything below it. A ray of moonlight shined through a window, lighting up the two men inside. One man was laying on the floor, his face too beaten and bloody to make out any real features. The other man was standing over him, breathing heavily with blood splattered all over him. He stared blankly at the man below him still processing what he just did. He went to wipe some blood off his cheek but just smeared more instead. His gaze slightly shifted, focusing on his hands as the adrenaline wore off and the pain flooded them. The blood dripping off them was a combination of the man’s and his own. As the skin on his knuckles had been scraped away, leaving the underneath exposed and gushing blood. He didn’t know how many times he had hit the man. He just saw red and kept swinging until long after the man stopped moving. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, the sound of an alarm slowly filling his ears.

He slowly opened his eyes and stared at the alarm clock. It continued screaming at him as the screen flashed, 7:30am. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes again as he did, and sighed. His body relaxed, his face suddenly looking more worn out and exhausted. He slowly opened his eyes and shut off the alarm, pausing for a moment to stare at the scars covering his knuckles, before carefully rolling onto his back. The woman sleeping peacefully next to him turned from her back to her side and gently placed a hand on his chest. She mumbled something incoherent before starting to snore very lightly. He smiled softly and placed a light kiss on her forehead before slowly sitting up and getting out of bed. He spent a few moments carefully stretching his different limbs and its muscles before walking over to the shared closet. The doors opened with a quiet squeak and the light spilled in. He took a few steps in and clicked on the light that would flood the rest. He began to shuffle through his seemingly endless amounts of plain white button up shirts before settling on one that looked freshly ironed.

He pulled off his tank top revealing his toned body, covered in scars, and threw on the shirt. He grabbed a pair of black dress pants to match, careful to not rub too much on the freshly healed scar on his upper thigh. The scar ran diagonally from just above his left knee to just below the side of his hip. It was deep, leaving a visible indent at the right angle, and left his leg more or less a prop. He could stand and walk but only for short periods, he couldn’t bend his knee too far, and some days the pain would be so bad he couldn’t do anything but lay in bed.

He gently pulled up his pants, zipped and buttoned them, then put on a belt. His gaze never left the clothes in front of him. What could’ve he have changed? Was it even possible to have avoided it? He didn’t like thinking about it, the past was the past, but everything was a constant reminder of what he lost that day. Of course he was happy it wasn’t worse but that little comfort was quickly overshadowed by what followed. The months of physical therapy, the pitiful looks he received, people continually treating him like a child. He was so clearly a grown man, 6’3, 200 something pounds, and in his prime he was benching almost double his weight. It was laughable anyone could treat him as anything less yet here he stood. He sighed heavily, grabbing a blazer and tie before turning the closet light off and leaving. He wrapped the tie around his neck and put on the blazer before closing the closet door, the same squeak being made. He walked back over to the bed grabbing his phone, wallet, and watch off the nightstand. He put on the watch taking note of the time 8am. He cussed him in his mind and gently kissed the woman’s forehead again. “Honey, it's time for me to go” His voice was low and husky but gentle, it carried his love on it. This time the woman opened her eyes and sleepily smiled at him, “I hope you have better luck today.” He smiled back, “You and me both.” She gently laughed, kissed him goodbye, then rolled over and fell back asleep. He chuckled to himself before exiting the bedroom and heading down the hallway to the kitchen. He could hear them before seeing them, his 8 year old twins.

They were racing to finish their bowls of cereal trying to see who could finish theirs first. He walked in with a wide smile and laughed at the two. “What are you girls up to now?” He questioned while walking past them to the fridge and grabbing an apple. “Iris bet that I couldn’t finish before her” one girl answered between spoonfuls, her hair was brushed and neatly put into two braids. Her school uniform was ironed and neatly put on. Iris gently slammed her empty bowl down then pushed it back slightly. “No, I just said you were a slow eater and you took it as a challenge Sam” Iris shot back, her hair was brushed but wild still and her uniform had definitely seen better days. Sam placed her bowl down and groaned in defeat. “Well I think neither of you should be rushing to eat. That’s how people choke.” He patted both their heads with a grin. He felt his watch buzz and huffed. “I have a meeting this morning so I have to get going and can’t take you girls to school. Your mother is still under the weather so she also can’t take you. Be sure you both leave for the bus soon or you’ll miss it.” He talked sternly as he gathered his paperwork, stuffing into his briefcase, and grabbing his laptop.

Both girls nodded with different sounds of understanding. He waved goodbye, they waved back, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He made his way through his apartment building, greeting people as he went and taking several breaks to rest his leg, to the parking garage to his car. He unlocked it, opened the door, and carefully climbed inside. Placing his briefcase and laptop in the passenger seat before closing his door with a slight slam, causing the handicap placard hanging from the mirror to sway. He grabbed it to make it stop then started the car and headed to his job.