One Bullet

The Streets

My tear-streaked face was buried in grime, and I blended in with the trash cans and pieces of garbage strewn about on the ground. No one seemed to notice me. It suited my taste just fine.

Living in the streets kind of changed me and made me less reliant on other people. I had just began to lose myself at the time, I suppose. Everything was always scant, and I lived off on all the things wasted by people in a better condition. I started to realize how little they appreciated small yet important things, such as food. I guess I should've been grateful, but it made me angry. I wasn't exactly sure why, though.

Since I lived in a suburban cummunity in a town called Fairview, New Jersey, slimey looking people seemed to be a typical sight. I often scraped up money dropped or left on the streets and used them for entertainment. Every year I went to an carnival in the heart of the town. As the years passed, I grew accustomed to the carnies there and vice versa. At age eighteen, I began joining the street fighting that occurred there.

"Come and get me," I taunted at a burly man, who was a few years my senior. He was called Dom--short for Dominic.

Dom grunted. "I'll go easy on any chick," he sneered, obviously confident in himself.

I smiled. Dom was easy--too easy. I was sleek yet tall, which gave me the advantage when it came to speed, and let me tell you, living on the streets also helped me build up the muscles.

Dom took a slug at my right, but I easily dodged underneath, giving him a hard uppercut. I felt my knuckles make contact with his jaw, drawing blood which he spat at the ground. Dom raised his eyebrow and made a curt nod, indicating that he wasn't going easy from now on. I simply smiled.

Dom lunged toward me, attempting a ground tackle. Again, I used my speed and spun, coming up behind him and pushing my foot against his back. A crack sounded as he hit the concrete, his nose broken.

I raised my hands in triumph, and the crowd that earlier fought to give Dom and I space to fight then surrounded me, screaming in joy mostly because they won the bet on the fight. I looked at Dom, unconscious on the ground, and felt a bit sorry, but I wasn't the mushy kind. That's why I mostly kept my distances.

The crowd parted suddenly as a suited man walked toward me. He was handsome, with ruffled brown hair and brown eyes and looked about twenty. It was silent as he stood in front of me. He didn't seem to like fact there were onlookers. "I am James Reginald, agent from the CIA. Would you like to have some coffee so we can talk?" he asked in a serious tone.

I admit it: I'm pretty cocky. "So you fancy government men have to have coffee to talk? You look empty handed now, bro," I replied, smiling smugly.

Reginald's--I've decided to call him that--face darkened. "Please, save your humor. If you're not interested in hearing me out, tell me, so I would not waste anymore time," he continued, a bit restrained.

I shrugged. "I'm curious," I answered. He nodded curtly and walked away, his stride telling me that he expected me to follow. I did. I'm still unsure why. I guess I figured I had nothing to lose since lost it all already.