Mystic Resonance

The Emo Delinquent

"Are you sure you got the right brand, Ricardo?" I ask my reliable buyer - I mean, friend - with narrowed blue eyes. The sun sets beyond the skyscrapers, close to evening so I decided to wear a black leather jacket over a black t-shirt with a skull with button eyes, wearing white gloves, and black and gray cargo pants tucked in my favorite black combat boots. I styled my smooth, black hair to be swept on the right side over my eye. "You know how I feel about smoking cheap shit."

Ricardo heavily sighs. "I know the spiel, pendejo. I buy you cigs, you pay for my service. That was the deal. Why would I misplace your trust after how much you pay me? That's like telling a nudist to put on pants.

Weird innuendo but okay. Whatever. I gently grab the cigarette pack and unwrap the wrapper. I pull out a stick while taking out a silver lighter. I offer one to my associate; he gladly takes one as well as lighting his stick. I light mine as well. We inhale a long drag of nicotine while listening the bustle of the Big Apple.

Since I'm suspended from my school, this is my pastime. Smoking in an alleyway with an old druggie during a sunset. Did I forget to mention I'm sixteen turning seventeen?

Yep, I'm literally killing myself. Well, if my body would let me. Ricardo blows a long smoke. "So, when you are getting back to school, chico?"

"Three weeks and four days in counting." Honestly, I didn't want to go back. For once, I didn't intend to be suspended. See when an ex-girlfriend who happens to be the principal's daughter ask to sneak into her father's office to change her grades, you should say no and said ex decided to snitch to save her prissy ass. Once again, exes who ask for favors or advice, say "go fuck yourself". If it weren't for my parents donating the school for a heavy fee, I would've been expelled. All I got was a heavy lecture on why I was caught. My father scolded me for my lack of training. Mother lectures on where my intelligence went. Overall, my parents were disappointed on why their perfect soldier was rebellious. "Wanna trade places?"

Ricardo chuckles. "I'm too old for school, but I don't mind trading lives. Living in a big cushy house. No one telling you how to eat, dress, buy shit. Sleep whenever you want. Best education handed right to you." I disregard my output. I don't want to say how lopsided his perspective was. My parents trained me to be their perfect warrior/soldier/mercenary/assassin. Yep, as soon as I hit eighteen educations wouldn't matter. The reason I go to public school is to test my adaptation to social gatherings and peer communications. Added measures my parents insist I learn practically all culture: music, art, language, and fighting techniques. They were building me to be their weapon. I had survived a near death accident which most definitely would've killed me. I was a one in a million lucky kid which brings to my parents' greatest project: Project Prodigy. I am their ticket to bringing their goal to reality. I'm literally a cyborg. Metal prosthetic limbs – arms and legs – curtesy of my aunt (dad's sister), eye cameras curtesy of my dad, all hooked up to my cranium which is basically half brain half computer. I am one walking half tin can with wires entwine with veins. I hold off my statement. "I bet supermodels are after your ass."

"Oh si. Guys and girls are after mis nalgas", I joke. He burst out laughing. Heh, good. I can deal with humor. Yeah. It's good to redirect the conversation with humor. "How's your day?" I ask steering the conversation away from my homestyle.

Ricardo gets silent. I raise an eyebrow. He would go off saying how his job suck in not giving him enough pay, his wife nagging him to stop drinking or taking drugs, or how his son isn't smart strong enough to stand up against his bullies. He takes a long drag of his cig and leans against the wall. "I'm going clean."

"And?"

"What do mean 'and'? I'm really going clean here, you little shit."

"You say that now but remember the last time you said were going clean? It was one year and five months ago you told me those exact words", I suck more nicotine, "you spend seven days in rehab only to sneak out and dope up on angel dust. I managed to bring you back by dunking your head in a bucket of ice water."