Borderline

Traumatized

                    Samson Gray

Present-day…

It's a sunny day, the sky is clear, and it's a little windy, making it perfect outside. Samson is walking down the street, awaiting a bus to take him to a new gym on the other side of town. That social media is buzzing about, they’re having an open gym today.  It has a rock-climbing wall, swimming pools, basketball, tennis, you can even pay for a golf membership; it's nice. 

He's on his way to the bus stop and passes a fast food joint, smelling the burgers and fries in all their glory. It's a cheap trick; pumping the aroma onto the street, so you have no choice but to smell it. Beautiful!

He crosses the street to the newly finished sidewalk. A wealthy couple recently moved here, who, built an equally appealing tall red brick wall that stretches for a couple of blocks blocking off their private property. Everyone seems to be buzzing around; the sound of shoes pounding away on the sidewalk creates a rhythm.

Theory: what if we as humans help charge the planet by moving, and every step we take sends small vibrations to the core that get converted into the energy that fuels the Earth.

Samson makes it to the bus stop and several others are sitting and standing around waiting for its arrival. A slightly attractive middle-aged lady dressed in a tight denim blue sundress is sneaking looks at every male and strolling over to tease them. She strolls around, even nearing Samson as he backs up, stepping on the shoes behind him. He's shoved forward, bumping into the middle-aged lady. He turns and apologizes. When he turns back around, she is gone; he pats his pockets: phone, keys, headphones. He wore a pair of gold and blue gym shorts with a navy-blue short sleeve dry fit and black athletic shoes. While boarding the bus, two men run off in a panic looking around as the others continue to board. Samson walks to the back and plops down on the seat. That's when his eyes widened, and his heart dropped. It's gone. Samson scopes the floor while he checks the rest of his pockets and coming up empty. Right before the bus pulls off, the driver opens the door and lets another person on. It's the lady in the sundress; she sits near the middle of the bus. As the bus starts moving, Samson scoots her over and grabs her by the wrist, demanding his wallet back. She's trapped, with nowhere to go and no other choice. She leans forward, reaching into the pockets on the dress, and slowly pulls out the wallet. Waving it back and forth just beyond his reach, he dips ahead, stopping inches away from her as he snatches the wallet from her. She plants one on him before he can drawback and grabs him by the shirt, then screams bloody rape.

His head swivels around in time to see the bus driver slam on the brakes as the other passengers stare at him. She is throwing a temper tantrum, kicking and screaming; all the while holding on to his shirt.

A mutiny is in full effect as the bus driver marches to the back of the bus, grabs him by the arm and collar, and tosses him off the bus.

Nowhere near the gym, he checks the run times. There's another bus coming in a couple of minutes, and it's in sight. He takes several deep breaths before getting on and opening his wallet. He stares into it while the driver glances at him before also looking into the open wallet. 

"You gotta step down, honey."

The bus drives off as Samson watches, the only thing left in his wallet is his ID.

I'll just call Melinda after she gets off work.

With a queasy breath, he walks the uneven pavement that matches the rusted fences lining the road. He walks a block before reading a street sign at a stoplight. Shit! He realizes the bus dropped him off within the seven-block radius notorious for crime, but they only give you a tough time if you look the part or disrespect them. I should be fine.

Samson stands five feet nine, muscular, and his hair is faded, his tone is a darker bronze tint, and his eyes are a light brown shade that turns goldish in the light. He's looking down at his athletic clothes.

I'm going to be okay! Plus, there are not even that many people on the streets. He says, trying to calm himself down, but he can already hear his heartbeat thumping over all the other sounds. The last block, then I'll be out of their territory, safe and sound.

A group of six come walking out of an alley and linger in front of it up ahead. They're pushing each other, and for a second it looks like it might just escalate. Samson pauses as a woman walks up and slaps both of them before yelling at them; then she see him and points. His pace quickens as he crosses the street; the only thing he can hear is the sound of his heart beating for its life.

“Calm down. Your good.” He tells himself

The reassurance doesn't work; all it does is scare him even worse, causing him to shake and go tunnel vision. Right now, regret is his silver bullet as his mind clouds with negative possibilities.

A massive hand with muscular fingers stops him as it grips his shoulder. Samson doesn't dare turn around as his heartbeat rises, and it begins slapping the walls of his chest, trying to escape. His thoughts are running wild as he tries to talk, but only muttering gibberish comes out.

"Stop mumbling and listen! Drop everything valuable on the ground."

Samson is afraid to move as the others encircle him, and another one repeats, "Just throw it on the ground!" before showing off his gun. They are multi-ethnic; their shortest is about Samson's height and the tallest towers over him.

"I don't have anything!" 

A gut-punch knocks whatever confidence he has left right out of him, and it lands on the woman's open-toe shoes. The noodles stick to her toes, drenching her feet as the smell tunnels up and smacks her right in the face. 

"Kill him!" She says before walking away, totally disgusted.

Samson spins around and locks eyes on the guy that made the demands; he has a scar above his left eyebrow. He empties his pockets and tries to run, but they block his path. Samson turns back to face eyebrow scar when the first punch connects.

A right uppercut lands under the ribs: A left hook follows, knocking him into someone else. A jab lands right between the eyes and Samson falls to his knees, only to get hit again and go to the ground. The moment he hit the ground a kick lands behind his ear, and everything is numb. It feels like he's hit his funny bone way too hard, and his whole body is stinging. His eyes are blurry as he stares at them, terrified. After a shaky breath, they pick him up, and their all-out assault begins. Everyone is spasmatic, punching and kicking over each other like it's a contest for whoever can land the final blow. In the beginning they were smiling while knocking him around. Now you can see the blood lust on everyone's face. Violent tendencies all working in harmony, feeding off one another. Samson pleads with them before falling to the ground. His cries only seem to fuel their anger, increasing the beating. He is motionless on the concrete and his flesh is on fire as he watches them. His adrenaline rush is wearing off and he can feel it; every punch hurts more than the last, and every kick rips the breath from his lungs. If this was a full-time job, they've hit their forty hours and are well into overtime or overkill. The senseless beating cracks away at his shell of a body and a darkening red is filling his eyes while grit sticks to his stained face and fingers. 

There's no more pain, nothing left—the end of a short, pathetic life and a shallow grave. Rock bottom, this moment is nothing new to me. It's a reminder that out of everything I've been through, I'm still here. I'm a survivor.

Samson's proverbial shell is breaking into pieces, and suddenly the glass floor beneath him shatters, and he falls into the darkness.