Creature goes out

It's winter, but for the past few years, this winter has become nothing but a suffocated attempt at its glory, as nature intended. Just another thing ruined by the touch of our past selves, and yet promised to be repaired by the current generation's run.

As I breathe in the fresh air, I truly just wonder, "Why the heck am I out here?" But if I start questioning, if I think about it too much and ponder the outcome, then I truly won't start doing it.

The city is still lively in its own way; the lights are on all over the place, but there aren't many people walking around anymore. Spring is yet to rise fully, and the sun will set later; for now, it gives me a good run. There are still many cars going around, but these aren't the places I wished to go at. The beauty of cities like this lies in their ramifications. Smaller streets are full of stories no one will ever bother to fully know, full of actions that will never reach the ears of those beyond the neighborhoods, and sins never to be confessed. I don't know what I could do with all this information, but for now, I'm not sure of what I want to do with myself.

As I walk, I can feel the cold air pushing right through my neck. The loud sound of cars going back and forth just reverberates from one ear to another as I finally reach the bridge. I look at the clock. It's currently 01:25; I feel like there is not much to it, but I am yet to get off the "common" road I always take. Right under the bridge, a train track makes its way. On the left side, there is a fence—a fence that was supposed to keep people from going on the track—but irony makes it that the right side is not protected by anything, and if you walk just a bit more along the fence, there will simply be no fence. There is an underground passage, just freshly remodeled to look more humane. Before that, it looked like a stairway to purgatory, full of spit, needles, used condoms, and whatever trash people would throw there. Now it looks like kids can actually walk there and not get attacked by rats. But these are issues that do not bother me. 

I get over the tracks and keep going; I continue walking until the bridge ends and then keep walking on the main road, elongated by shops, restaurants, and never-ending lights as far as you can see. The cold air makes my hands freeze, my fingers going numb; at one point, I can't do anything but push them into my pockets, hoping for some warmth to sink in. As I keep walking, I eventually reach a church—a church that's buried among those buildings. They are not tall, but yet they tower in presence. In my foolish attempt at faith, I raise my numb-from-cold hand and draw a cross over my upper body. "How dare I," echoes in my mind. To act like a saint, to attempt to see God when all I can do is close my eyes before Him. I turn around and face a street that goes to the right of the main road, going into the darkness just before the church. And I know this street; I know because I have walked on it many times, but I often try not to turn my head towards it. I am aware of why I would do it if that is to happen.

I start to walk on it, on the sidewalk; the more I go into the darkness, the colder it gets. I know this road; I never paid attention to it, but memories flow through my mind at all times when I'm in a constant flash of my past. Close to the end of the street, a pub can be found. Right in front of it is a building that has been under construction for years now, a building that is next to a kindergarten. But that's not important; what's important is the building that is under construction. A building that has no more than one floor, where, as night falls, a certain kind of people come at all times. Drug addicts who can't resist their desire for these earth- purging poisons, people who cannot remain in their own houses and come to this building. I have always seen them; I never sought to make contact with them... but for some reason, this day is different.

 I take a deep breath and walk in the building. The darkness consumes my vision, but the flash of my phone breaks through this curtain of pitch black, and I look around. I can see it clearly, as if it's an item from a game; it shines through the night—needles. I look for the stairs and climb them. At the end of the stairs, I see in a corner... three people are sleeping... or so I think. More than anything, they look paralyzed by the drugs they've taken. I walk normally toward them and attempt to strike up a conversation with a guy as I kick his butt. 

"Are you awake, man?" 

"Hu-uuh? Who the fuck are you?" the man said as his eyes were flashed by the light of my phone. 

"Look, I don't want trouble, just some info, okay?" 

"Get out— I shonchu talkchu," the other guy tried to say as he looked at me. 

"I just want to know who you are buying this stuff from, nothing more, please" I say confidently. I try to harden my voice to make it sound deeper and stronger to hide my emotions and overwhelming feeling. But I just forget how already disrupted from reality these guys are. 

"I said go AWAY!" the first guy screamed as he attempted to swing at me. 

"I see how it is..." I breathe in heavily, then grab him by the collar and throw a few punches right in his face. He screams... or his friend screams... I'm not sure why I did that, or why I keep doing this, but I keep swinging. He can't do much, to be honest. Too many drugs for such a short time; he just stays there glaring as blood leaks from his mouth and nose, imprinting on my knuckles that start to feel hotter. I'm not sure, but I don't feel like I'm enjoying it; I just feel a rush of adrenaline as I keep hitting, and when my punch hurts, I slam his head into the pavement and keep going with the other hand. They say you should not interact with drugged people; you don't know what they can do. But honestly, I now find that quite amusing. From all the scenarios I had imagined in my mind, he just doesn't do any of that. 

I look at his friend, who has stopped screaming. The other guy simply doesn't react in any way; he just remains motionless. "Would you like to give me a way to contact the guy you procured this from?" I say as I show him the needle. 

"Y... yes," he says as he raises his hands in an attempt to block my attacks. But I won't hit him. Little does he know I'm weak, incapable of actually fighting, but maybe that's for the better. 

"Thanks," I say as I get up, take the paper he handed me from his pocket, and walk out of the building.