Assault
Prologue: Homeless
An air of uneasiness hung in the room in a strong sheen of fidgets and strained coughs. Death was the only raw word that came to mind in the cramped shelter. A smell stronger than sulfur whispered into Isaiah's nostrils.
Rotten flesh.
The sight of his rib cage digging for release out of his flesh and the sallow skin hanging off of his jaw sickened him to the point where he almost gagged on his own existence. He ran a hand down the blackened skin on his stomach, gentle so he wouldn't rip off the decaying tissue.
"So you're the new one, eh?" The whisper snapped him out of his painful reverie. He dragged his gaze off the broken mirror and onto the man who broke silence.
"Yeah. Yeah, that's me."
Isaiah bit at his lip and inhaled sharply at the disgusting taste of his bruised lips.
"What happened to you, huh? You look like death, mate."
There were a few uncomfortable laughs at the man's words, but Isaiah wasn't amused.
"Drugs."
Saying it, he almost choked on his words. There were no laughs at that. Just the same silence that was there when he entered. Isaiah tugged a few strands of his scraggly black hair out of his scalp in frustration and remembrance of the trouble Ecstasy had gotten him into.
His brother's slaughter. Getting arrested. Ending up in this hellhole.
"Drugs," he repeated angrily. "It's messed up, really. After taking those drugs, I found out that there's a thin line in my head between insanity and humanity, and I fell off the fucking tightrope."
He clenched his fist and jerked a nail across his chest, blood dripping out the regretful trail his nail left on his being.
"Don't get to angry, bud." The guy said, obviously tense from the way he scooted backwards in his chair and shifted his eyes towards the other men.
Isaiah ignored him and swung his fist around, reducing the already-broken-mirror into crushed pieces reflecting to him hundreds of his gruesome and pitiful image.
The shards dug into his knuckles, cutting into the scarred and tainted skin. His right hand was ripped open, and the pain was excruciating to his fragile form. Yet, in a masochistic pleasure, the pain drove his brain crazy in bliss.
Is this ecstasy?
His humanity was begging him for a taste of the intoxicating drugs, his insanity clinging to the pain as if it was the Ecstasy his body had grown to need.
"I need to get home. Now." He pulled some more of his locks out In sedated rage, flinging himself into a chair.
"Now." Isaiah echoed.
"The name's Marcus. And I'm here to give you a reality check." He banged Isaiah's head against the wall where the broken mirror laid.
"You have no home, you son of a bitch! That's why you're in this damn homeless shelter! Get it together, before I make you get it together."
He slammed Isaiah's head once more against the wall before letting him go.
"Glad we cleared that up." Marcus drawled.
Me too, Isaiah though, rubbing his fingers into his neck to soothe the aching pain from Marcus's "reality check". Me too, you jackass.
