What Derives From Hate?

• 38 •

     And today was magnificent. My camera in hand, sitting crisscross applesauce in the park, people bustling around me. Between the loose and tight sweats, the thin hoodie and calming sounds, New York could not get more perfect. Laughter filled the air, though that's a lie. Laughter can't fill the air. Only toxic chemicals. Laughter surrounded everyone here. Children, men, women, anyone.

     The sound was actually super pleasant to hear for once. I did not mind the high pitched screaming of little babies, of course having my own children kind of helps. Three men stood in the corner, laughing with a bunch of camera equipment near them. What were they doing? Neither of them look like they are interested in filmography. Which they probably were not.

     Throwing away the thoughts about them, I stood up, walking towards the side walk to roam 'The Big Apple.' Although, I never understood why it was called that. Sure, it had earned it's name from John J. Fitzgerald, a sportswriter that popularized the name with horse-racing. But I didn't think horse-racing was that popular.

     Waltzing into a small corner shoppe, I ordered whatever I felt in the mood for. The place was very aesthetically inviting and pleasing. All colours went together, projecting a warm glow. On the far wall was an abstract set up for books but it added value to the little place. "Here you go ma'am. Iced macchiato with whipped cream, lots of extra caramel." I whispered a ghost of a thank you to the teenager, smiling as I sipped it.

     "May I sit with you?" A man asked, not even waiting for an answer before plopping down across from me and sighing. "You don't know me but I... I'm a friend of your parents. They sent me here to tell you that coming to New York was a huge mistake." Sipping the macchiato warily, ignoring the smarter voice in my head telling me to run and not listen. But I stayed.

     "Sorry if I'm in a bit of snafu. Why can't I be here?" The man's eyes darted everywhere, concerned probably of big brother watching us.

     "The same reason you couldn't be here all those years ago. They're back. So, you either-"

     "If I leave, the whole state of New York is in danger. I have to kill them this time. Instead of leaving them unconscious and tied to each other." I sighed, I was tired of not being able to enjoy the beauty of things. New York being one of them. "How much time do I have?" 

     "You have a about half an hour before they either attack wherever you're staying or here. Do you have the proper clothes?" The stranger twiddled his fingers, tapping his foot anxiously.

     "Yeah they're in the trunk of my car. It's right across from here. You go get it. Navy blue duffle bag. I don't go anywhere without it." He sprinted through traffic, just narrowly missing a black sedan. Stupid ass did it again, this time doing a double flip over the last car. He shuffled on over, patiently waiting like a good little citizen, giving me enough time to change and holster my weapons before we were under attack. "Everybody get down on the ground!" A masked man yelled, making me laugh. "What's so funny, bitch?"

     He tugged me to his body by my ponytail, holding a knife to my jugular. "You don't recognize me, Ivan? Im disappointed. You should. I'm the one person who can," I grunted thrusting my head back into his nose, hissing when the knife sliced my neck slightly. "stop you and your goons from your ultimate goals here."

     "Who are you?" He questioned, getting knife happy around me. Deftly dodging his useless attack, I tossed it into the chest of one of his goons, grinning. I probably shouldn't be getting pleasure out of this but I am. It's like a high but different from marijuana.

     "I don't think you've earned the pleasure of knowing who the hell you've messed with." Whimpers from all over the small shop were heard in my ears, giving me one of two decisions: kill them or let them run. "All of you, go!" They got up and ran while I held two goons at gun point. The third one, the one who slit my neck tackled me at the waist once the door rung for the last escapee.

     My head smacked off the tile floor like a sticky hand smacking a paper, leaving me in a slow state and blurred vision. The man straddling my hips pummeled my face in, each hit registering its own amount of pain until it didnt. Until the pain became too much and I gave up.

     Somewhere along the line, a ghost or figure appeared and kneeled down by my head. "Are you really giving up? After all this? Are you really going to let 8.5 million men, women, children, sons and daughters down? That's not you, not the Jenny I know. So get off your ass. Teach these guys who owns the motherfucking world. Or..." The figure sighed, pushing himself up. "you can lay here and die, giving them enough time to wreak havoc on the world. Which is it Jen? Yes or no? Live or die?"

     "Live..." I choked out, blood bubbling out my lips and slipping down my cheek like a red tear. With my eye swollen shut and my lip busted in three places, and other facial injuries, I brought my knuckle into his temple, smiling when he crumpled to the ground like a wrapper that missed the trashcan. The other men began to lunge at me, stopping short in there tracks as they were held at gunpoint again.

     Gunshots in movies and video games are two-a-penny, each one only marginally increasing the viewer's adrenaline. But out here in the confined space of a café,  they are as good as a hypodermic to the heart. Each one isn't simply loud, it cracks into the air and echoes around the hills, magnifying the feeling of our vulnerability. Their bodies hit the ground with a dull thud, prompting me to stand up. Not only was my face hurt but so were my legs as I attempted to stand up.

     I leaned on the table close to me, shooting the others several more times, before collapsing. Police scrambled in, noting that I was the hero of the day. And in my condition, I'd need medical attention right away. That was on its way but so was unrelenting pain. Pain of a headache and pain of a brain bleed.