The Victim (540 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.2 on 5 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by ardubs (View user info) at 2005-03-15 11:22:34 EST
Dull shafts of sunlight split the clouds overhead, partially blocked by the towering skyscrapers. The street was still damp from the morning dew, and the unmistakable odor of industry filled the neighborhood as the clouds billowed out the weathered smokestacks, settling in a haze above the drab buildings.
Rosa smiled thoughtfully at her son as they walked west on 52nd Avenue towards the boy's elementary school. They were living in a basement apartment in a rough area of Brooklyn, but she knew it was a step up from their previous situation. She felt safe here, but more importantly, she felt safe for her son. She imagined what it had been like living in Mexico; living in constant fear. She had simply seen too much. She shook the thoughts from her head as they continued down the sidewalk.
They had only lived here for three weeks, but she felt more at ease with her surroundings as each day passed. It had been Miguel, her late husband, who had urged her to take their son to America, take him away from a life of certain poverty. It was poverty, too, that took him from them that night. She remembered the loud gunshots, the muffled and urgent chatter of the Federales. She remembered the bloody boot prints tracked through their modest flat. She absently reached under her shirt collar, grasping the locket she had managed to salvage before fleeing with Alex.
--
He sat on the corner of the filthy mattress, holding his head as he stared at the worn linoleum. Tremendous pain coursed through his body. He clutched the empty pill bottle in his right hand as he rocked back and forth uncontrollably. The voices would be with him soon, tempting and tormenting him, taking absolute control of his mind. He would do anything to be rid of them. He remembered the perilous journey north. Thoughts of his mother joined the chaos in his head, adding to his oblivion. He wished he'd been sick that morning. He should have never let them leave the house. One day of school so long ago couldn't possibly merit the tragic hand he had been dealt.
He felt pain in his left arm. He dropped the plastic container and grabbed where it hurt, screaming in agony. He immediately released his grip as he glanced at his left forearm. He remembered now.
--
"Hurry up," she said in their native tongue, looking back at Alex. "You're going to be late!"
"Yes, mother," he replied. She was amazed how quickly her son was picking up the new language. In their free time, they would sit in front of the television and soak up what they could. Alex had had a much easier time of it, and that made her happy, for he was the reason they had come here.
It was sunnier now, but still overcast, as Rosa and Alex continued down 52nd Avenue. Local shopkeepers rolled up their protective steel cages and unlocked the thick iron bars that covered the doors. People of all walks of life slowly came out of the woodwork. Most looked poor, but she had seen much worse. Delapidated buildings lined either side of the street, some with their windows crudely boarded shut and covered with graffiti. She couldn't read the writing, but she had a good idea of what it meant. She nudged her son ahead, quickening their pace.
As they approached the school, masses of children streamed into the yard. Alex smiled up at his mother and gave her a quick hug before disappearing into the crowd. Rosa turned and headed back home to prepare for her shift.
She walked in the opposite direction down 52nd Avenue, weaving through the steady human traffic.
--
A festering wound oozed red and clear liquid. Dark blue veins were plainly visible down to his wrist and up to his shoulder. His expression deepened as he tried to ignore the pain. He clutched the locket, rubbing it frantically between his thumb and index finger. A brief glimmer of light caught his eye. He snapped his head, trying to focus. Looking on the floor a few feet to his right, he saw a bent steel spoon covered in brown debris. Next to it lied a small empty baggie with colorful patterns on one side. He looked further still and finally fell upon what he already knew was there: a syringe; its plunger fully depressed.
--
The bell rang. The front doors burst open as hundreds of children plowed through the exit and down the cement steps. Alex stood on the tips of his toes, surveying the area in front of the school as people rushed by him. He walked toward an open area in the school yard and waited. His mother wasn't usually late.
As the minutes went by, the other children disappeared down the streets and into the yellow buses. His mother had told him never to walk home alone, but he was confident he could find his way. He started down 52nd Avenue without a second thought.
--
His legs trembled as he tried to stand. Pain racked his entire body, twisting and piercing until he collapsed to the ground. With his good arm, he managed to prop himself partially onto the mattress. His head pounded and spun. The pain was unbearable, and it was getting worse. Sweat drenched his filthy clothes and covered his dark complexion. Suddenly, he realized where he was.
He used to live here, years ago, when his mother was still alive. They would sit in this very room and watch television together, trying to pronounce the new words they heard. In the mornings, they would walk to school, and in the afternoons, she would pick him up.
He turned his head painfully, looking behind him. Drops and smears of blood led from the window to the mattress, and from the mattress to where he laid. Paralyzed by pain, he laid helpless on the floor of the abandoned apartment. Thick fluid oozed from his arm with each heartbeat, running down his forearm and collecting on the grime-covered floor. He closed his eyes.
-- End part 1. --
User Reviews
Submitted by sc0oterpie (user info) at 2005-03-17 16:43:55 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by ess-arr (user info) at 2005-03-15 15:06:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
sweet piece of writing
Submitted by jumpinjellyfish (user info) at 2005-03-15 14:05:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow.
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2005-03-15 13:05:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This is so well written.
Can't wait for the rest.
Submitted by Chinaski (user info) at 2005-03-15 12:08:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'll work from midnight to eight, come home, sleep for five minutes, eat
breakfast, sleep six more minutes, shower, then I have ten minutes to bask
in Lisa's love, then I'm off to the power plant fresh as a daisy.