Creatures of the Heart

The Seventh Month

Staring danger in the eye always made me feel more alive than ever. A firm grip on the handle of my cleaver, the sole of my left shoe scrapping the dirt on the ground, muscles tensed, eyes on the target, I saw my present, no past, no future, just frozen in time. Someone shouted and all hell broke loose.

The cleaver, now one with my body, moved with my thoughts. It went where my eyes fell and cut flesh like paper. Blood splatted on my face, soaked my shirt, and warmed my heart. I smiled. No one was ever going to get past me without getting a taste of my blade. After all, I needed to live up to my reputation as the most notorious gangster in Old Town; Maniac Butcher, they called me.

It was another typical day at work for me, a gang fight at a deserted corner of an oil palm plantation in the outskirts of Selangor. That was how we settled our disputes among the gangs, whether it was territorial, women or money. We let the fist, steel pipes, knives, cleavers and parangs do the talking. Guns, you say? It was too risky to use them as the police had been cracking down on weapons smuggling syndicates in the country lately. So, no guns for now, back to the old days of fighting with real weapons and not just a piece of metal with a trigger that any sissy can wield and call himself a hero. These weapons we used drew blood, broke bones, severed limbs and scarred faces. If you survived, you carried the mementos to show your heroic deed, just the way I liked it.

I was flying through the crowd, driven by adrenalin like jet fuel. All the faces I saw were a blur. Their screams of agony gave me pleasure. I was unstoppable. Sensing an imminent attack from my right, I swung my cleaver around to block my enemy's advance but my arm stayed limp. I looked to find my cleaver lying on the ground, shimmering red. It was only then that I spotted the blood oozing out from my right sleeve.

My enemies were no fools. They could smell an easy prey from miles away and I was standing before them, stunned from my injury. Within seconds, three opposing gang members zoomed in on me and pounced!

A sharp stab pierced my lower back as I reached for my cleaver with my left hand. I swung around to fend off my attacker and missed. Another guy took advantage of my blind spot and dealt me a blow in the head with a steel pipe. I doubled over in pain. A skinny lad gave me a boot and sent me crashing to the ground.

This was how it always ended for guys like me. When the strong fell, the weak swarmed in to feed on the remains like a pack of hyenas. I had no fear as I surrendered to Death, my vision turned red, then grey and faded to nothingness.

*

A shock of pain to my back woke me. I sprang up, thinking that I was still in the battlefield, only to find myself drenched in sweat, panting like a dog at Death's door. As I surveyed my surroundings, blinding agony shot up my shoulder causing me to see stars and collapsed onto my pillow.

"Easy. The doctor said you need to rest."

I recognised Ming Chai's voice. It was a sign that I was alive and safe.

"What happened?"

"Ma Ko saved you. We won the fight. Now, the 808 members will not cross over to our territory anymore."

My boss had saved me again. But then, we never kept count of these things. As his right-hand man, it was my duty to protect him but we always had each other's back, no matter what.

So, we succeeded in securing our territory, and I asked the same question I always did after each fight, "What's the head count?"

"Three dead, ten injured."

The score was not bad considering our gang was outnumbered in the first place.

"You collected the money for the dead from the other members?"