Post by Mitch 'The Broken' Heart on Jan 15, 2021 0:29:40 GMT -5
Bite The Bullet.
December 25th, 2020
Christmas Day
“You made out like a bandit, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Penny Heart was surrounded by wrapping paper. Not all of it was technically Christmas wrapping, but that hardly mattered to her. Nor did the fact that the presents were secondhand for the most part- the gifts, all marked from ‘Santa’, were things she was grateful for- a ‘new’ winter coat, some DVDs, a bag of sugar-free candy, and a dapper looking plush penguin- light blue with black button eyes, a jaunty sailor cap, and a little red bowtie, who she instantly decreed would make a fine boyfriend for Brrr.
Mitch had received a single gift- a portrait of himself from behind in tones of red and black, leaning on a brick wall with a pensive look on his face. A cigarette smoked from between his fingers. If he could, he would put it in a gilt frame worthy of the Louvre. Leaning back gingerly, he ran his fingers across the painting, which sat on the couch next to him. He felt physically dead. One eye was covered in a bandage, and the rest of the injures from his mugging throbbed if anything so much as brushed them. His ribs were all sorts of ugly colors. And yet, watching his sister’s joy even at the most humble of presents warmed him. Made every mark on his body worth it.
“That was a great Christmas.”
“Not quite over yet.”
He grinned, the corner of his mouth curling up. Wincing sharply, he bent over, reaching under the couch to retrieve one more present. This one was wrapped in blue foil, white ribbons bringing snowflakes to mind. It was large and heavy, about the size of a briefcase. Mitch pushed it across the floor to Pen, whose eyes grew to the size of small dinner plates.
“Oh my gosh. What’s…”
“This one ain’t from Santa, squirt. This one is from me.”
Hands trembling, Pen began to open the present. She didn’t rip into it like the others. Something in her gut spoke to just how special this gift was, and she treated it with reverence, untying the ribbon and setting it aside, running her fingers under the taped seams rather than tearing the shiny paper to shreds.
Unfolding the glistening blue, she gasped. In front of her was a large wooden box, shut by brass clasps. Popping them, she lifted the lid to find a palette, watercolors, tubes of oil paints, pastels. A full set of squirrel hair brushes with handles the same polished wood as the box itself. A few canvas boards were wrapped along with the box.
Pen stared at it, agape, then back up at her brother. Tears were welling in her eyes.
“It’s… it’s exactly what I wanted. I… how did you… h-how…”
She bolted forward, sobbing, wrapping her arms around Mitch, trying to be gentle. He kissed the top of her head.
“It doesn’t matter. You wanted it and I got it. That’s all that matters. From now on, nobody matters more to me than the people in this room. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I don’t care if I get shit for it. End of the day? It’s you and me against the world.”
Four weeks later, Inner Harbor, Baltimore “You ain’t been here long, have you?”
The sky was the color of slate, and its reflection made the water the color of old iron. The camera focused on the back of someone sitting on a dock looking out into Baltimore's inner harbor. A black hoodie with the hood up. The image of a blood red crown, scratched and distorted- broken. The hands protruding from the sleeves were taped, a cigarette smouldering between two fingers. The voice that spoke was like skidding your sneakers on gravel.
“Lot of people coming and going lately. Hopefully enough new blood to supplant the bad. Doesn’t matter, though. The bad blood was rotten. Infected. Had to go or the whole organism would rot.”
The hand holding the cigarette reached up. A plume of smoke blew forth from unseen mouth, carried off by the chilly wind off of the water.
“Blood’s something I know way too fucking much about. But from the looks of it, so do you. Girl after my own heart. Probably came here chasing your own star, following your crimson tinged dreams. Unfortunately, this place eats dreams for breakfast.”
Shoulders rise and fall, a long sigh.
“You’re building up a head of steam. Don’t think I’ve been oblivious to it, Lennox. You got potential and I ain’t saying that to be condescending. You’re gonna go far in this business, though I gotta tell you from personal experience that you ain’t gonna be in for a long career.”
Slowly, the figure turned around, pulling their legs up and over the end of the dock, folding them under each other cross-legged. Gradually, he lifted his head, one hand pulling the hood back to reveal the bruised, battered face of Mitch ‘The Broken’ Heart. One eye was covered with a black patch, the strap circling his head at a sharp diagonal. The other blazed sharp blue fire. His lips twisted into a grin.
“I mean, it’s inevitable. You don’t go long when you treat your body this way. I ain’t one to wear out my welcome, though. More of a blaze of glory type cat. And while dancing around beating the everloving crap out of each other is a great way to spend an evening, and I’m really curious to see what a woman like you can do against a guy like me and vice versa… I got a confession to make, Lennox.”
He snorted, a bit sheepish. His shoulders shrugged.
“I am on a mission. Got a wrong to put right, a tipped scale to set even. Nothing noble here, I ain’t running around pretending to be no superhero. But see, I can’t reach the end of this path I’m on and have a single loss to show for it. No matter how fucked up my body gets, no matter what insane crap you put me through, I cannot and will not lose to you. Losses are ammo. Ammo for the next guy and I can’t afford to hand over a single bullet.”
Reaching down the neck of his hoodie, Mitch produced a ball-chain necklace. Hanging on it was a single bullet. Etched into the side of it was a crude crown. Holding it up to the camera, he tapped against it with one calloused finger.
“This is the only bullet I can stand to take with me to the end of the line. And Lennox, I’m sorry, but it’s the only one I will. I will do absolutely anything to keep it that way, including things that even someone like you, who’s a little like someone like me, will not find fun, or pleasant. And it fucking sucks. We could have had such a good time, you and I. You kind of remind me of a young, untested Kyra Johnson, and that’s the highest compliment I can give to you right now. Maybe I can think of something else once I’ve been in the ring with you myself. And who knows, maybe we can do this again when things… when things aren’t like this.”
Raising the bullet to his mouth, he bit it, gripping the metal in his teeth for a moment before dropping it back into his hoodie.
“But things are like this, Lennox. Like I said before, I’m a man on a mission and you are in my way. I’d say sit this one out but I know that you won’t. You got too much pride, too much self respect, to roll over and it is going to get you hurt. And I’m probably going to sound like an absolute fucking dick right now, but Lennox?”
He leaned forward, brows furrowing. He looked almost regretful.
“I’m beat to shit. I have an obvious fucking blind spot. But you are not going to win this match because I refuse to allow you to. You’re not ready yet. It’s not time now. Not with what’s going on. Not with what I have to do. Keep pounding. Find your path forward. That path is not through me. I am a brick wall surrounded by a minefield and You. Can. Not. Pass.”
His breath hissed through his teeth, and he shook his head, rapping at his temple with his knuckles.
“Try though. Show me what you’ve got. More likely than not, I’ll respect you enough to pick up the pieces of you after.”
The cigarette was raised to his lips, hand trembling, eye wild. He took a pull that dragged the ashes down to the filter, smoke escaping his nose and mouth like a dragon- one that had seen many knights come to slay him, but none had succeeded yet. He slammed what was left of it onto the weathered wood, grinding the embers out. His gaze burned a hole in the camera’s lens.
