Lawless
Marcus was sick. His stomach churned as the nervous butterflies stung like wasps. He thought he would throw up, but he fought off the anxiety - he blanked his mind out. He didn’t want to think about this moment. He could only wish it was over. It felt unreal - dreamy. He was completely numb, all but his stomach. The nausea swirled around his body in waves, until finally erupting from his mouth. When he finished, he wiped the bile from his lips. Hands on knees and shaking weakly, he stared through the bush covered fence outside an old junk refinery. Dominic crouched next to him like a hungry lion holding a sharpened pipe “Ready?” Marcus nodded blankly holding freshly sharpened, yet rusted machete. The edge gleamed as he twisted it in his hands, inspecting it. He certainly didn’t feel ready. How could any one ever prepare themselves for this kind of thing. This wasn’t the first time pooping in the potty, this wasn’t the first day of school, this wasn’t the first time having sex. This was going to be Marcus’s first murder - and it was very real, and it was happening right now. Marcus wasn’t evil, in fact given the circumstance, was easily one of the better people in this distorted, bloody world he was born into. A world were universal law had never surface. People never conjoined, became a collective society. They were left alone to fend the difference between righteousness and greed, create the borders between good and evil -smothered completely in freewill. Of course some advances had been made, they weren’t a foolish people. They still had a structure. They just lived within a different code of survival. A different way of life. There were no rues, no laws. He was simply avenging the death of his sister, raped and murdered by the people in which they were stalking at this very instant. She was 13. These actions were quite normal and quite disgusting, but socially overlooked all the same. Marcus’s parents were crushed. They were good people. They couldn’t stand this world, but how could they escape, sleep only lasts so long and it is constantly interrupted by the constant fear. A shift whistle blew. “2:00” Dominic nudged at Marcus hoping to snap him out of his stupor. They followed down the fence watching as the 2:00 am shift poured out of the dusty bricked refinery building, most hitting the armored busses - they advertised a safer trip through the deadly streets, some drove cars. A few walked. Marcus’s eyes caught his purpose. Bobby Builand. He was the one who had raped and murdered his sister. Left her a carcass for the rats to dine on. Marcus had investigated for close to a year. This was the one. Bobby Builand. Nineteen years old, he had killed more people than anyone Marcus or Dominic had ever known. Dominic had only killed two himself, one of which was actually a group effort. Tribe-like structuring gave the appearance of safety, looking after one another, sort of. Most of the time the entire group fell apart. Back stabbings were expected. Paranoia became a sense. Bobby was quite feared. Nobody got in his way, and if you did by accident most people laid down and let him walk right over their backs, in the hopes to not be stabbed there, of course. He would die tonight, though. He had to. The adrenaline had eased Marcus’s belly and now he felt ready; at least his rage masked his conscious and made him indulge himself in that belief. They followed Bobby down the fence until it ended, watched as he and his co-worker split off and headed down a side street. Marcus and Dominic scurried through the shadows. Streets split, rights and left’s. Silently they crept and gradually they were getting closer. The dark excitement rushed through their veins like some kind of twisted drug. They snuck up to a building along the street and pressed their backs against it. They watched as Bobby and the co-worker kept moving down the street. Dominic motioned left with his hand then violently thrashed with the pipe. Marcus knew exactly what that meant. They were to take the shortcut practiced weeks earlier and cut them off at the other side. They darted through the dark, stumbling over piles of littered trash. Dominic paused as he felt the jelly squish of a rotting corpse’s guts. He pulled his foot free. Intestinal sludge dripped and oozed from his shoe. A hot sickness hit his face as aroma of hot trash, feces, and decaying flesh hit his soul head on. He lost it, then pulled it together. (This was defiantly one of the filthiest places in the city. Stricken with sickness, diseases, death. Buildings, disheveled and reeking of stale urine; housed fucked-up orphan children, sad dejected widows, freaks in the shadows, and the general hopeless. Murder’s were rampant here, it was the cites broken toilet that was never flushed. Elegant people just completely avoided it’s foul putrid, piling stench. The regular inhabitants rolled around in the spreading filth as if it would never wash away. Desperately scraping each other face’s off for whatever they could get their snaky hands on.. They rushed to the mouth of the alleyway. They could hear the blabbering whispers and shuffling foot steps. Marcus stepped back a few. Dominic crouched down to attack. They looked at each other. This was it. As they could see the shadows, Marcus timed it took two power steps leaped with all his strength and swung solid. The blade hit so hard it made a popping sound as it cut halfway through the co-workers exposed head. Blood exploded out in gushes. His expression was the frozen ghastly horrified look as blood gurgled out of his mouth. He stiffly fell to his knees then his face. Marcus didn’t even have time to free the blade before he felt the ripping of his stomach muscles. Looking down he saw Bobby’s stiletto knife with brass knuckles twisting in and out of his gut. Dominic jabbed at Bobby’s head. Blood was already pouring out of Marcus’ open stomach. Bobby turned and stabbed once into Dominic’s chest as life pulsed and squirted out of his heart. He slid down to the ground. Marcus’s body, in shock, was paralyzed. He was forced to watch Dominic. Bobby repetitively brought the brass knuckles down on Dominic’s temple, crushing his head until it collapsed in like a wet, clay bowl and filled with blood, his body still twitching and his smashed eye popped out of socket. In his twelve years of life, cruelly, was the last thing Marcus ever saw.
