→rise of the bull j.h

→one

He loitered the ends of the earth for nothing. He spat on the world, a cancerous ridden earth where men stabbed men and women pit another woman against them. It was competition, everything. He looked left, a man watched a teenager cross the street with her boyfriend holding her hand. Emilio knew the man thought dark things, thought that he could easily knock the kids head clean off of him with one blow, he thought that he could take the gorgeous girl easily. The girl looked at an older woman, her rouge lips pouted as her curtain of chocolate curls trickled down her back, the girl frowned and knew she would never be as beautiful as that sensual lady. Emilio watched them all, the selfish fucks.

        The miserable Forkes weather did nothing for his already sour mood. There was nothing to do here; nothing to look at, a paradigm of shit is what Forkes was. Forkes, if it were Pandora's box, would release all the mundane and dreary bullshit in the world with that slither of hope since hope is every-fucking-where, there's no escaping the manufactored modal verb we all think we can feel but can't physically touch. Hope is socially constructed if you thought about it, what would that feeling be without its definition and name? A sense of happiness, of course but mostly wishful thinking.

        Emilio once believed in hope for the world when he held his baby niece, Lucia. A beautiful thing brought to the world, the paradigm of everything, a worlwind of happiness and all the other good shit that comes with it; that was her, il mio bambino. He made her feel as though the next generation might not be as bad as the little shits being dragged into the world by the ankle from their mothers womb the day he and his brother were born. He was a part of that generation that were tucked away in the cracks of the sidewalks that would always remain, leave their mark and ruin the beauty of the city. Those kids always made the town look messy. We were the cracks in the pavement, he added as an after thought, they couldn't hide shit because all we could do was kick, scream and carry weapons in our back pockets.

       His brother was the worst. Vincenzo Del Toro, his father's son. A mind-numbingly-idiotic-fuck. The boy had guts back in the day, his mouth eternally running like a motor. All you ever wanted to do was kick that little shit in the mouth and hope you broke a tooth he could later choke on. He brought nothing but shit to the front door and Emilio was glad he was gone -  wandering the streets of New York still, but nowhere near him. There was noone Emilio hated more than the blood that ran through his veins, the blood of his father that raised rats including him.

        Emilio would always be pitted against his brother by the mouth of his father, his mother and the neighbourhood. The Del Toro boys were always known for being charming, their father too, but what they were mostly known for was the off license store their mother owned. Everybody loved their mother, everybody loved her sons and daughter.

       Emilio is so tall! They would comment, soon your Enzo will shoot up, they will be butting heads soon, Vi.

       I don't know how you did it, Vi, those beautifully boisterous boys will always be a handfull with those girls chasing them down, especially your Emilio.

        Your boy, the youngest, is a tough one, I saw him fighting another boy the other week. He handles himself well.

        The looks and the charm were always associated with Emilio whereas being the troublemaker of the two was appointed to Enzo. Soon they both lived up to their labels, Emilio becoming too focused on his own vanity and the girls and boys surrounding him, cooing about how much they loved his eyes whilst Enzo spent several nights in jouvie for fighting on the streets. Their mother always favoured Emilio; it was so painfully obvious sometimes, but their father had alwsys filled Enzo's void in terms of attention from his own mother. Their father always made snide comments about Enzo being the true man of the house after he dies; that Emilio will be too busy looking after his bastard children. Emilio's mother would hush him harshly and coo over her glorious looking son. Emilio didn't care for his father, he never would.