The Weight of Fools

Then and there, a few miles south of Manhattan, the tail lights flickered opposite to the blue flesh of dawn, instilling a cold grip on the coats of the not so crowded curb lining and the bubbling hum of far away traffic pressed heavier with each passing moment, while the chiming bells of boutiques yipped, gracefully and chillingly. All the rapacity of the masonry seemed to him more hospitable now. He turned and crossed the one-way street and waited between the neon heat of a parked fleet, but instead of stepping where paths meet he began to reach in his bag for his deathblow treat. He lifts his mask and wipes his palms like tears. He was fretting that what he intended would flee, that everything would continue the way he’d seen it be; his stillborn mother bound by disease because they lack the funds of a fee. Inside he uneasily twisted like the knot of a tightening noose, every breath a struggle to avoid suffocation and each thought hanging heavier than the last like some expanding cloud pressing against the roof of his mind. And these thoughts, brooded in retribution, though human, hum merrily in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Brian saw him as he passed but saw none other than the run-of-the-mil American, young and naive, perhaps commuting to the first lecture of his day carrying that hideously ashen bag and in those bummy sweats. “One toke over the line, sweet Jesus, one toke over the line…” the mysterious man crooned, growing closer and louder to the suited figure in disregard. “You’re no human, never once were.” Brian ignored him before the faint clicking of what sounded like the punching of a pillow when suddenly a sharp and sudden sting ripped through the flesh of Brian’s shoulder blade pulsing through every fiber like lightning through a wire. The man cocked the gun once more and fired and Brian began hopping on one foot like a child at play. A woman fled the scene. Three more thuds rung from the gun and Brian, propped on a stone pillar, lay there inanimate in the same condition the feigning firm sought to destroy. He leaned over Brian’s lifeless body, “we’re all fools in some way, and we’ll suffer for it.”