Unwilling To Hate You (MAJOR EDITING)

2

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Living in a world like this, famous people need bodyguards. If the world had a equally constructed society, the average person would need a bodyguard. Every minute of every day, someone somewhere is being preyed upon for a display to insert dominance. People nowadays are territorial, they thrive off of owning something or someone. They wake up every morning because they gain motivation from the knowledge that they are superior to others. In truth, they're not. In two hundred years, no one will remember who was at the bottom of society and who was at the top. No one will remember the selfishness of the members of the world who feel the need to look down on others. No one will care about someone who's long gone. As depressing as it sounds, in some ways it's comforting. Unless you do something that changes the world forever, being someone who has a knife at a fist fight means nothing to no one. Apart from the victim.

"We need you back at the station, I expect you to be here soon. Don't run anyone over." My superior officer's voice came through the car's radio.

"I'll try my best ." I sighed after the call had clicked to signal the end, even though there was no chance that he could have possibly heard my half hearted attempt to ensure him that I would not flatten someone who strolled across the road. I was parked at the side of the road next to an old pizza place that had occupied the building for well above twenty years, my eyes scanning the usual alleys where people who didn't want to be seen were seen. Having lived around here for most of your life, you get to know exactly where you find the people who don't want to be found.

As most employees of the police, you gain a company car when you get high enough up the ladder. I had managed to bargain my way into receiving a car, even though my association with the police was very different than being a police officer. And as any employee of the police who has a company car, I pressed the button on the central console and on came the blues. I suppose it wasn't exactly ethical of me to put the sirens on when it wasn't necessarily a call out, but it was a call in. In most cases, getting called in was a lot more serious.

A young girl in a navy blue Ford Fiesta even seemed agitated by my interruption as I was able to progress on as she remained still. Her hands tapped against the steering wheel as she desired the moment that she'd get to slam her foot on the accelerator and proceed to where she was headed.At half seven in the morning all you can really expect is work traffic and OAP's doing their early morning shopping. It was very rare that I'd get a call on a Sunday from a boss that sounded oh-so-serious, especially not one to go back to the station. Normally I just lounge around for a while and wait for the moment the radio spoke to me, finally bringing me out of my boredom by saying that some men got in a fight outside a pub or some women had a brawl over the men fighting outside the pub. Just the typical drunk fairytale. Despite the numerous occasions where I've split up a fight, it's never brought me to the brink of boredom. I thought the idea was quite amusing actually, because half the time the next morning they'd wake up in the cell and trudge through a day or two of amnesia. So the fight the night before was completely pointless.

Now that was the normal, but this wasn't. This hasn't happened before, this was wrong. It felt wrong. It was most definitely going to be wrong.

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In my late teens, I tuck the leap of joining the army. Signing up for something so brutal seemed like my only path away from what I knew I would one day be expected to do. Maybe it wasn't the rebellious side of me that chose to fight, maybe it was my rational side. I had never really pondered on the matter for too long, because there was no use trying to decipher something that happened a long time ago. I had only been in the army for two years. 'Come home for your 21st birthday Charlie' Dad had said to me on more than one occasion. I couldn't deny the request any longer, his unrelenting nagging made me think that there was something wrong, or something he needed me home for. I couldn't say no again.