Even the moon, in all its power, couldn’t force its light through the clouds that stormed their way across the sky. The streetlamps flickered miserably, their light bulbs nearing the end of their short existences. The wind howled and the rain lashed down in torrents. It was a cold English night.
No human in London dared to brave the onslaught of the storm, all hidden in their warm houses, sitting by the glowing fire, watching the latest news on the T.V. or the newest celebrity gossip.
It was an excellent way to spend a Friday evening.
Except for one.
One man, dressed like the Grim Reaper himself, cloak wrapped around him like a protective shield, letting no element enter. He walked straight, as though he was royalty. He didn’t feel the rain beat his cloak, or the wind play with him, or the cold airs bite.
Walking with purpose, he took a right off the main road and strolled down a dark alley that was littered with rubbish. A dustbin was overturned in the middle, the streetlamp broken, its orange light illuminating the pile of curved shards of glass under it. He made no sound, his feet sliding over the puddles beneath him. Beginning to walk faster down the alley, two swords slid down out of his sleeves, curved and vicious. They glinted in the fake light.
Running now, he bowed his head down, aiming himself at the end of the alley which grew closer and closer by the second. And yet, he seemed to speed up, the idea of hurling himself into bricks was an excitable prospect.
As the wall loomed up ahead of him, he braced himself, bending low so that he was half his size, like a loaded spring. For a second, he lifted his face to the sky, catching raindrops on his angled nose, and then he jumped, arms outstretched, blades glinting.
For a second, he hung motionless in the air, defying nature, until gravity began to reclaim its hold on him. But it seemed that he had other ideas. Throwing both swords at the walls to the side of him, he snapped his wrist, producing two chains that followed them as they bit into the wall. They swung in the air like molten silver and then solidified, snapping the swords out of the air with an audible crack. Hanging there, his arms were pulled to his side. His face covered by his hood, he resembled an angel looking over mankind.
Pulling his left hand, he ripped the sword out of the wall. Swinging it round, he threw it up into the air. Falling towards the wall on his right, he pulled the right sword out of the wall and swung it at the left. The two swords met together in a metallic clang, the left speeding towards its wall at a higher place, the curved end biting into the wall once again. Pulling himself up, he repeated the process, the swords glinting in the air with every turn, until he reached the top.
Perching on the roof, he resembled a mother eagle looking after her children. Surveying the place around him, he retracted the swords back into their place, the chain no longer visible and the swords no longer existing.
Looking across into the apartment across him, he spotted a clock. 22:12 10/10/2014. Sighing in impatience, he sat there motionless, a part of the building.
The rain poured, showing no signs of decreasing, and still there was no sign of human life. The couple in the apartment below had long since gone to sleep and the elderly man in the room opposite had taken a surprisingly young woman to his bedroom. His clock still glowed with intensity in the dark.
0:32 11/10/2014.
He stared at the figures, waiting for them to change. The digital images swooned before his eyes, melting together in front of him. Joining, they swam in the air in front of him, their lines etching a face. A woman. Her beautiful, heaven-like features tainted by the feeling of sadness, worry lines etching themselves onto her forehead. She seemed to be mouthing something, over and over again. Three words. Three words that he would never get the chance to hear again. I love you. ‘Selena?’ The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself, sprouting wings and flying to her. Stretching his arms out, he stood up and tried to embrace her when the horn of a car smashed through his thoughts like a gunshot.
Waking up, he glanced around, panicking. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, that was a rookie mistake. Glancing at the clock, 4:35, he looked down at the noise. A car had pulled up, a black cab, spewing out two drunken people. A woman and a man. They both walked towards the alley, the taxi moving before they could shut the door.
Walking towards the entrance of the flats, the man pulled the woman back from the door and placed his hand on her thigh, laying his lips on her. She fought back playfully but then gave in.
Watching this, the stranger stood up and braced himself. And then he jumped, his cloak billowing out behind him like a parachute. Throwing a sword into the wall, he slowed his descent down until he touched down onto the ground. Holding the sword in his hand, he walked towards the couple.
The woman saw him first. ‘What do you want?’ She slurred, her words melting together. He said nothing, his arms moving faster than the naked eye could see. Throwing his sword he hit her in the dead centre of her forehead with unnerving accuracy, the force of the throw pushing her onto the ground. She slid across the wet floor until she reached the overturned dustbin, the clouds of the sky above reflected in her non-seeing eyes.
Crawling towards the woman, the man lifted her head in his arms and let out a simple sob. Sniffing, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Pulling the sword out of her head, he grunted with the effort and then fell back as the sword slid out. Standing, he pointed his finger at the stranger. ‘You’ll pay for that.’ He said, his voice oddly calm.
Tilting his head with curiosity at the turn of events, the stranger placed a hand inside his coat and took out three small metal pieces. Placing them somewhere on his hands, he spoke. ‘Curious thing isn’t it? Love, I mean. Love like yours makes you want to fight me for her death.’ His voice seemed refined, his accent unrecognisable. The way he strung words together was beautiful.
Stopping to look up from what he was doing, he glared at the man from under his hood. ‘But love as a whole isn’t like this is it?’ He gestured at him. ‘Love is stupid. Love is dangerous. And, above all, a justification for revenge.’
The man had fallen silent, his eyes staring at the stranger in front of him. The sword slid out of his hand and hit the floor. He followed it, his left hand reaching up to his throat to stop the flow of blood caused by three minuscule holes.
Walking towards him, the stranger bent down and held him by the chin. ‘What’s the matter? Can’t speak? But then again, we never did speak much did we, Dad? And when we did, you said nothing other than the bullshit that’s spewing out of your throat right now.’ The man’s eyes widened in shock as he realised the truth and then defeat etched its way onto his face. He sunk to the ground and laid his head down, waiting.
Breathing deeply, the stranger placed one hand on his head and twisted it all the way. The sickening crunch of bones breaking followed.
His body limp, the stranger let go of him, his body falling. ‘Revenge is something we have to do when someone wrongs us, remember?’
Picking up the other sword from the floor, he found that his dads hand was wrapped around it. Shaking his head, he took his hood off. His green eyes pierced the night. ‘Traitorous to the end eh, Dad?’
Wiping the blood off both swords, he pulled his hood back up.
He had now had his revenge or, at least, part of it.
But, in some places, the pace was good. I found the pacing a bit of an issue around the time where they seem to fight each other. It was pretty confusing.
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