Inflorescence

DORY

‪It was the middle of the night and his soul was as dark as the streets around him. ‬

It had been two weeks since she'd left him. Anguish, guilt and terror had built up within his body, soul and mind. He wondered if he was fit enough to be a boxer, Dad and teacher. Was the stress too much for him to take, or was it all in his brain? Everything. Was this even reality he was living anymore? Or was it some dream world he'd conjured up and lost track of as the truth of the matter sunk in around him, consuming his being in the quicksand below.

The night drives used to be theraputic but the longer he drove, the more that they reminded him of her. Her smile. The words of encouragement she yelled by the ringside. Her timeless beauty. Good night kisses. Those soft lips. Her timely advice. The sweet nothings she'd whisper in his ears. The blood. And sweat. Comatose hangovers. All the arguing, screaming and breaking things unintentionally. The tears. Smashed glasses. The blackouts. The night terrors every night.

Although they were still "friends", the seismic fault that had drifted them worlds apart had caused enough damage to last a lifetime. Tainted memories were beginning to repaint the landscape they'd formed together; beaches, blue skies, golden sands, purple mountains and rich green grasses became derelict, neon cityscapes full of dirty streets, thick smoke and rowdy masses.

Submerged within the chaos, Dory hoped that he'd float to the surface, somehow. Despite everything weighing him down, he was determined not to capsize. Even within the depths of the sea and the dark shadows of the looming battleships, his canoe kept paddling along. Fighting the years of waves, waterfalls and high tides that life itself had thrown in his way had left him more than prepared to take on the aftermath of the ocean's wrath and make it out onto the other side of tropical paradise on shore.

He had plenty left to explore. Even if the clock in his head was ticking away, counting down the seconds to his demise, ready to slowly consume him from the inside out with the inner rage, dormant and boiling up within the far corners of his fraying psyche.

Drenched with fear, irrationality and doubt, he was itching to get back to where it all began, to the place he called home. Where he was understood; where he was loved and encouraged enough become the person he was meant to be, through the careful nurturing of his adoptive family.

Oh, how he'd yearned to return to those days. Where the simple life was the life; no stress, no expectations, no responsibilities, no paparazzi, no brutal diet and exercise regimes, just exploration. The good times. Where he could enjoy a slice of coffee and hot chocolate in peace, party 'til all hours, slug all the beer in the world, look at Playboy magazines without judgement and watch the world go by with a hit or two on a clear, starless night with nothing more than a pair of shorts, Chico and his trusty truck, Martha.

As much as he'd wanted to go back in time to change things, a part of him was also looking forward to the future. A time where things would be resolved and everyone could get on with the rest of their short lives. Go about their merry ways and leave him be. That's all he wanted in the end; to retire peacefully, see his babies, live a fulfilling life outside of the spotlight and start up his own sporting goods company: D.F Sports Goods.

The storm was still too strong for the future to subside the past, and the present moment was suffocating him like a thick blanket of fog arising from the mountain of despair above, choking the hopeless in a mist of regret, squandered opportunities and misguided hope.

Skipping through the radio stations only made things worse. Thoughts of the good, terrible and mediocre flooded his brain once again. His life was flashing before himself in more ways than one.

Overwhelmed, beaten and downcast, he pulled his ride over to the sidewalk to prepare himself for a nap. Dreaming about parallel realities seemed like a refreshing diversion from the hell he was experiencing before his very eyes.

Turning the engine off, the car was parked perfectly between the sidewalk and the road. Parking lights on fleek, seat slid back and the relaxing sounds of white noise helped him escape into a dream world...

... But not for long.

Two masked men charged from the alleyway with goods, followed by a screaming man. Inaudible, thankfully. Half awake, Dory drifted inbetween consciousness. Peace and war. Dreams and reality.

Outside, the thieves managed to get away as the man slid halfway bewteen the damp sidewalk and the road. A horn blared at the man as he managed to crawl his way back onto the sidewalk, gripping his hands across the hood of Dory's car for support. Realising that there was a figure inside the car, the mystery man decided to bang as hard as he could aganist the metal, yelling until his throat began to burst.

Dory was startled awake. A shoeless man wearing a t-shirt, jacket and pink, floral boxers was standing infront of his view, blinded by the lights. Not the sort of alarm clock he'd wanted to hear at this time of the morning:

"Okay, so I've just been mugged and you refuse to gimme a lift back home to get dressed? Wow, some stand up citizen you are!"

The shocked and upset man tried to open the door, but Dory refused to budge. Untrusting of the man, he wound down the window, waiting for him to shuffle his way over to the driver's side. He seemed harmless from first glances but he wanted to make sure he was protected if things happened to go wrong:

"Hi, I'm Emílio Fonseca. I've just been mugged and the attackers have made off with my wallet, phone, cards and favorite pair of designer ripped jeans, the man introduced himself, "I'm a second-generation Goan-American with Muslim and Hindu relatives. I come in peace and mean no harm."

Dory sighed. "Goan? You're Indian? Why do you have a Portuguese sounding name then?"

Emílio glared. "Because Goa was invaded by the Portuguese and we got colonial-style names? And my parents passed those names on? Please help me out. I'm dripping wet, like a after a good night surfing RedTube."

"... Fine.." Dory unlocked the door, trying not to react as the figure sat down the custom made leather seats and slammed the door behind him. "Why Emílio, though?"

"Well, it was either Dilip or Emílio and I know which name I prefer with Fonseca."

"Emílio?"

"No. Dilip. It sounds more badass and it means 'King', protector. Emílio just means rival. Dilip's my middle name. At least I ain't called Brad, though. Imagine that."

"Who is?"

"My big brother. His middle name's Bawthis. Means Baptist, but he's in Las Vegas. He's doing well, playing poker and hitting on the ladies. Works in a Casino, doing better than I am, stuck selling cars to old people, students, unemployed meth addicts-"

"-I didn't ask for your life story." Dory groaned. "Just tell me where to drive you to, so we can part ways."

"Part ways? Our journey's only just begun." Dory wasn't impressed. "Okay, fine. Bring me to Convoy Grove."

"Convoy Grove? I'm going there too. Which number?"

Please don't say thirty-three-five-zero, please don't. "Thirty-three-five-one."

Dory let out a hiss under his breath. This obnoxious weasel was his parent's neighbor and he never even knew about it. With nowhere left to go, he decided to floor it.

... So much for staying OUT of the spotlight.

A/N: A deleted scene from a story I was gonna publish years ago but it had no plot. What do you guys think?