The cherry red bud of his cigarette glowed a dim light across concrete when he drew in the smoke, faded as he pulled the cigarette away from his lips. He rocked his head back, let it fall to rest against the concrete wall behind him, as he slowly breathed the smoke up, into the empty air above. Eyes shut, but rest couldn't come on a mattress of solid concrete, with the sound of passing cars in the night filling his ears.
'What the fuck are you doing?' he thought to himself, as his eyes slowly opened up to the dark skies above. In the city lights, all the stars were drowned out, leaving a vision of naught but endless void above.
'Mius was right. It hurts. So much. No amount of reinvention is going to fix it. Chisel away at yourself for years and years, until nothing remains, and it won't be enough.' A deep breath, a deep sigh, and he stared longer into that black abyss above. He could almost see the devil's face in the empty space, as in the absence of sensory input, his mind filled in the blanks with dreamlike subconscious hallucination.
In his mind's eye he could see It all spiraling backwards, every galaxy, every star, every planet, every atom, shrinking back and condensing back to the embryonic singularity, from whence all things started. He saw it all blow apart in sound and fury, dissipate and cool, watched the stars be born, and wink out. Millions and billions of years ticking by in the blink of an eye, a glittering spectacle of lights igniting in brilliant flashes, and fading away just as quickly. Somewhere in the glittering, he is born. Somewhere in there, he is sitting there, with tears falling down his cheeks as he gazes into the heavens. An infinitesimal fraction of a moment within an infinitesimal fraction of a moment, before he, and the rest of mankind ceases to be. Then the earth, and the sun. The glittering continues on longer, but more sparse, more spread thin, slower, until all that's left is the dim fading light of the last remaining stars, but they too blink out, leaving a universe filled with naught but cold stones and frozen gasses, slowly spreading out into an even, unchanging, homogeneous totality, that endures longer than any other period, until this too is torn apart, atom by atom. Nothing left. Nowhere left. Stasis then, eternal. It is tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Love is not enough. This endless chase for redemption doesn't have a happy ending.
Kaisar lifted himself from the ground, and hefted his tote bag over his shoulders, and got to walking out from between the buildings onto the dark Gotham streets, flicking his cigarette away into a puddle. The streets were practically empty, save for the other lost souls; the homeless, and beggars struggling to survive, and drunk party gets going on their way home, shuffling and swaying together to cabs back home.
He didn't see the bottle coming. It flew in an arch, spinning end over end through the air, and it fell hard, smashing to pieces against the side of his head, sending him reeling against a wall in deafening pain, drops of stale beer and blood leaked down the side of his cheek, while drunk twenty somethings on the other side of the street burst into collective laughter. Hand to the blood coursing from his scalp, covering the bleeding wound, as his senses slowly came back into sync. He lifted his eyes, and follows the sound of laughter to the crowd, and felt his blood pressure spike. All that sadness and anger that he’d bottled up for so long finally popped the cork, at some dumbass kids who got their laughs from harassing the homeless.
He hit a buckle on his tote bag, and it fell to the ground from his shoulders. He marked a male face somewhere in the middle of the crowd, bared his teeth, and broke into a sprint after them. They scattered, laughing, expecting to outrun him. But he was fixed on one target, and he was faster, more importantly sober.
He caught him by the clothes, digging his fingers into a shirt. It was about then that the crowd of them started to panic. A girl's scream filled his ears, as he tugged the man he'd managed to grab backward. He hooked an arm around one of his target's and swung him around, wheeling himself on a heel as he flung the man against a wall. Kaisar kneed him in the kidneys, and swung his elbow into the back of his head, slamming the drunken youth's face into the bricks. As he pulled an arm back for a finishing punch, a third part grabbed him, holding his arm back, and pulling him away from his first target. Instead, he kicked out and knocked the man in the side hard enough to get him falling over to his side, as he curled up and clutched his face.
Kaisar hooked his left leg back and got his ankle tangled with the man who tried to restrain him backward, and twisted himself violently to throw his elbow backward into his ribs. He twisted and curled in against the blow, and started tripping up. Kaisar took the opportunity to escape his jacket, and free himself from the grappling, and wheeled around to throw his shoulder into the young man, who already tripping, collapsed onto the concrete. Kaisar kicked him once, before becoming the victim of a shoulder charge himself. His head whiplashed backward and to the side, as he was stuck from the side. He slammed into the wall of a building roughly, seeing stars momentarily, and opening a new wound on his forehead from the bang. Blood trickled into his eyes as he turned himself back to confront the third man, who was just then helping the second back to his feet.
Deaf to the world, he charged in again. Instinct more than martial training took him, and stupidly, he threw punches with sweeping hooks, easily predicted, and dodged, mostly, but it kept the men off balance and on the defensive, while he jumped from one to the other, swinging. Adrenaline running through him so dense, he didn't even feel the counter punches really, even the one that broke his nose. A lucky punch finally landed, and one of the men skittered off balance backward, and feel flat on his back, and the last one alone desperately threw himself on Kaisar, in a tackle, when his side was presented. Together, they went falling back towards the building's wall, while Kaisar threw ineffective short hooks towards the others head, but the positioning was too awkward to make the deliveries really hurt.
So he resorted to rolling and wrestling him off of him, flailing like a wild animal in an attempt to free himself. Eventually, he got on top. Wisely, perhaps due to some martial arts training, the man, rather than let himself get pinned so easy, tucked his ankles under Kaisar's hips, with his knees to the sides of his ribs, his arms up over his shoulders and around his neck, and kept his head tucked to Kaisar's chest. His range of motion restricted by the body configuration, Kai was unable to actually deliver any significant blows, but still swung his arms wildly, lifted the man off, and tried to slam his back down into the concrete with marginal effectiveness.
It was then, with a heave to lift the man up off the ground, that the fight came to an abrupt end, for the same reason it started; he never saw the bottle coming. The broken bottle this time. The sharp glass of the shattered neck came for his face, dug in at the right eyebrow, and sunk into his eye.
Kaisar screamed as the glass ripped his face open. At last, he truly lost control. His hands clutched his face as the improvised weapon fell to the concrete beside him. He lunged away from the objects of his rage, flailing one arm around to clear them out of his way, as he collided with a building’s hard wall, to support his balance. Blood and other fluids flowed free from the ruination there. The man he grappled with slipped away, and at last the group started running. Police sirens in the air signaled the world flooding back in to his senses. Though his mad hatred had only increased, reality overrode it all. He struggled to suppress the flow of blood as he got to his feet, again. He was hurt, he realized, his face was cut up, nose broken, bruised all over, bleeding. Eye… Gone. He stumbled with grit teeth, to grab his bag before he vanished back into the night, to hide from the police. At the moment, he'd earned quite the distinguishing feature. A trail of blood drops on the concrete, marked his road back home.
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