Almost Heros

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People who begged lived. People who fought back died. That was Michael's unspoken rule. Pulling the knife out of the man's stomach, he smiled brightly. He would have been handsome, loved by ladies and envied by men, if it were not for the blood that was spilled over his face. The blood that was not his, but that of the man who stood in front of him, now slowly bleeding out, murmuring something that sounded a lot like, "just end it now."

And so Michael ended it, and with a loud bang the gun he held in his other hand finished off the man, putting a circular hole in the middle of his forehead.Carelessly Michael walked away form the scene, whistling slightly off key to the tune of "Got No Strings On Me" from Pinocchio. As he walked he twirled his knife in his hands, unworried about the police or anyone who would try to stop him. He was the least of anyone's problems. After all, Ariza was known for it's crime. Michael was like a fly amidst a swarm of wasps. Best to kill the wasps rather than the silly fly, it was simply common sense.

Not that Michael much liked the idea of being a fly, but it did gain him popularity among the people. They called him 'The Merciful Murderer' for never had he been able to refuse anyone who asked for him to spare them. He didn't kill those who became afraid near him, or began to cry in pain, and never would he harm a child. All people had to do to escape with their lives was ask, so that only the proud ones who screamed curses and fought violently found themselves gifted with a terrible ending.

He walked down the streets pleasantly, in a public space where nobody cared that he was waving around a weapon, or that blood splattered his clothes. Such things were normal in Ariza, for the people could easily be separated into two groups: those who fought and killed, and those who cowered in fear. Most of the time, Michael killed the killers, and left those who were afraid to remain afraid... and alive.

Lost in thought, he traveled into the downtown area of the city, a twisted smile on his face until a young woman came and stepped in front of him.

"Sir," she said, "Do you agree that the police need to step up and take out the criminals of this city instead of lounging around all day?"

Michael frowned, looking the girl over. She was short, especially compared to his own tall figure, and her hair had been cut like a boy's and dyed a bright shade of pink. She was wearing a ratty t-shirt promoting The Harold Brothers, who screamed 'music' into microphones and made huge profits by it. Her jeans were ripped and her shoes had holes, and as Michael took in her appearance he noticed skull earrings and a piercing in her nose that held no jewelry. Everything added up immediately in Michael's head. She was a dreamer, and nothing more. So he just turned and walked away.

"Hey!" she called after him, "Don't you run away from this! This is a serious problem!" But Michael ignored her, even as he heard footsteps following him, and her angry voice growing nearer. Even if she caught up he wasn't going to listen. Of course, he hadn't expected her to jump on him.

Which happened to be exactly what she did.

The girl slammed into him, nearly knocking him off balance as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hoisted herself onto his back and into a one sided piggy-back ride. "You listen up Sir!" she yelled into his ear as he stumbled around trying not to fall, "We are the people! We need to stop the criminals! Help me protest!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO DESPERATE?!?!" Michael yelled, pushing her off of him and onto the concrete.

Instead of getting up, the girl just stared at him and said, "So will you help me?"

"Peanut, let me say something. Picture, for a moment, that you were a fountain pen. People tend to treasure you more than other pens. But treasured things tend to have the unlucky habit of breaking. So you, yes you, break, and you make this huge mess because you're all full of ink and nobody wants to deal with it because despite how you were treasured more than most pens, nobody's going to cry over a fountain pen, because it's just a fountain pen."

"What does that even mean?"

Michael sighed, "You listen, but you don't learn, do you. It means that you're trying to be our capitol's hero, and make this big movement. Well, if you succeed people who are against you will come and kill you because you're important enough to do things that will affect them negatively. And nobody's going to continue their work because they don't really care that much cause you were really just a celebrity and nobody actually cares about the dreams of a celebrity."

"But why with the pen metaphor?"

"Because confusing people is fun," Michael rolled his eyes as if it had been obvious, "now how about you step aside and let me walk in peace."

"But how can you walk in peace when there's so much crime on the streets?" she asked, finally standing up and grabbing the sleeve of his coat before he could turn away.

Michael sighed, seeing that the girl wouldn't go down without a fight, "Because I carry around several weapons, and know how to defend myself."

"But others don't! Wait, is that blood on your face?"

"Like I said, I know how to defend myself."

"Well... what if you teach other people that kind of thing then maybe-"

"Nope," Michael cut her off, "I'm not teaching people how to fight, end of the conversation."

"Sir, just hear me out!"

"What's your name?"

"What? Wh-"

"Just answer the question."

"My... my name is Cherelle."

Michael frowned, "I'm not very fond of that name. I think I'll call you Cherry."

"O-okay."

"So, Cherry, my name is Michael and-"

"Sir-"

"Michael."

"Fine, Michael," Cherry sighed, "are you just trying to change the subject from the real problem here?"

"No," Michael shook his head, "though you obviously aren't clever enough to pick up on it without my own explanation, I just gave you an opportunity. If you had continued with a more pleasant conversation, the possibility of entering a platonic relationship would have come up. If we were friends, I would be much more likely to help support you cause."

"Oh."

"Unfortunately you just ruined the opportunity for yourself so I'll be leaving now," Michael turned and walked away, not so much as saying a simple goodbye.

Cherry shook her head and began to follow him, "You wanna get some coffee sometime?!" she called out, and Michael stopped in his steps, looking to face her.

"Are you really that desperate?"

"Yes."

Michael sighed, "Alright, Cherry, meet me at the Reynold's Cafe at noon tomorrow. You know where that is, right?"

Cherry nodded.

"Good, then I'll see you tomorrow." Michael turned and walked away, heading back to his apartment, where he knew Julia would be waiting. What a story he'd have for her.

He smiled as he reached the apartment building, entering and taking the stairs up to his apartment. The smile grew wider as he noticed the bloodstains on the carpeting near his door. Solenne must be home again.

Walking into apartment, he closed the door behind him and froze.