"I'm burning and it's because of you."
Three years ago one decision tore them apart before they even could be together. Now they meet again. With memories of the past and sweet promises of the future the world doesn't seem so bad. But the greed and...
"It's raining my soul, it's raining, but it's raining dead eyes."
- Guillaume Apollinaire
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Mix had no time to fight back.
Right after a baseball bat hit the back of his knees it hit his head too. The sharp pain struck through Mix like a lightning, its thunder — pinning him to the ground. Before Mix could shake up the initial shock from the hit and try to fight his attackers, multiple pairs of arms were firmly holding him up as his body was suffering one punch after another — to his stomach, chest, and face.
He could taste the iron on his tongue; blood. One of his eyes was swollen, it was hard to see. He started coughing, with every punch it was harder to take a breath. He couldn't move — too many people were holding him in place.
The rain was harshly falling on his beaten-up frame as he was thrown into the grass mixed with mud. He tried to stand back up but it was too painful. He looked up with the eye that was in a way better shape than the swollen one — the man, with a scar stretching down his face to his lips, was looking at Mix.
"This is what fuckers like you get for protecting their precious boyfriends," the man smirked. "Next time let us do our work or you'll be the first one leaving this world." The man squatted down to be on a similar level with Mix, "are we clear?" he mockingly said the same words Mix said to him back in the alley.
"No," Mix said, spitting out some blood with his words.
"Ouch," the man put on a painful grimace, "you might want to get that checked out. I don't think blood is a good sign, right boys?" he looked at his subordinates who were still standing above Mix. They all laughed scornfully.
The man chuckled too and stood up. He threw one more judging look in Mix's direction and went to his car. "See you around, boy."
The light cut through the rainy afternoon again, blinding Mix for the second time that day.
As fast as they came, they also left, leaving Mix alone on the dirty wet ground, in pain and with too many screaming thoughts. He closed his eyes, his back touching the damp grass. He had no energy to move. He should probably call Earth, or Sing, or Earth...
He should call Earth.
Mix reached to his back pocket hoping that his phone was okay but then he stopped...No...Earth didn't have to know...at least not right away. Mix didn't want Earth to see him like that — so beaten up and pathetic.
Mix was so frustrated that he couldn't fight back as he would typically do. But there were too many of them and they came out of nowhere. It wasn't like back in the alley when Mix knew they were coming. This was different and it became personal.
Mix coughed again, his chest hurt, he had a bad feeling a broken rib might be the reason. But he hoped not, maybe he was only overthinking it. What else he could do, beaten up, laying on the dirty grass under the pouring rain?
