A Shadow of Himself
The wind billows through your jeans on the cold night, your torso protected from the onslaught of the element of peace by your leather jacket. Your face is hidden behind a black helmet, your black hair pushed against your scalp. Your gloved hand revs the bike and it purrs beneath you like a tamed dragon. The New England streets twist and turn like an eel until you reach downtown. You start to look for the correct alleyway.
You start to worry as all the alleys you pass are void of human or humanoid life. You’re looking for a man in a canvas jacket with the sleeves ripped off. His hair is buzzed down to almost nothing and boots are covered in mud. Or shit, who knows? It was only a vision. The woman was average: hair like the bricks of an old school house, not very tall, an overcoat, and dress shoes; a regular damsel in distress.
Finally, your eye catches a glimpse of canvas and hairy arms. You pull the brakes and spin the bike around, aiming for the alley. You stop just behind them, get off, and set the motorcycle down on its kickstand. The beast and the woman don’t seem to notice you and your roaring steed. He towers over her, a bear standing over a bunny.
“Hey asshole,” your voice calls out from deep within your helmet, “if you’re going to pick on someone smaller than you, why not pick on me?” you taunt at the monster.
His eyes fix on you, a mixture of disbelief and anger, “why don’t you pick your fights a little more carefully next time, punk,” he snarls at you, “get out of here, this doesn’t concern you.” He goes back to messing with the woman, “so, what’ll it be? Your money?” He starts to grab at her crotch, “or your-”
“I said you should pick on me, asshole,” you cut off his haggling with the woman and he lets her go. His eyes turn to you again with fury and slight insanity. If only he knew.
“Maybe you didn’t understand me. But if you utter even one more word then there won’t be a next time for you to be more careful.” He tries to be intimidating but it just isn’t working on you.
You theatrically take a breath in and when you let it out two words escape: “butt cheeks,” you say proudly.
He swings at your head, his fist as big as your skull, but misses as you dodge under the cannon fire. He gets his footing back but before he knows it your fist is on his jaw. His teeth clench and he growls like the monsters of the night. His fist comes up like a wrecking ball about to drop and you pull out a surprise: your body melts, becoming one with the shadows. Your vision becomes dark and all you can see are silhouettes of static against the darkness. You move behind your target and your head and shoulders pop out of their hiding place. Your hand shoots out, grabbing his ankle and pulling it out from under him.
You move through the shadows again before he can get up and materialize in front of him. “What ARE you?” He spits at you.
“It doesn’t matter,” you reply without a thought. Your body climbs on top of him and starts beating him, hurting him, and killing him.
Your hands stop their hitting motions and find his chin and the back of his head, just the right places. “Please, don’t, I won’t do it again,” he implores, I swear it.”
“Sorry,” you say, unamused, “I don’t believe you.” Your hands move swiftly, as does his spinal cord.
“Are you alright?” You inquire of the woman. She nods slightly and runs off.
You grab the body of the beast and melt into the shadows again, letting go of the carcass; an easy clean up.
Your bike waits for your arrival and excitedly growls when you turn the key. Backing out of the alley you head off towards the beach side of town. The bike echoes through the forests and pines until you reach the cliff. You park the bike under the old maple tree and take off your helmet, leaving it on the handlebars. You reach in your wallet and take out the photo. Her red hair fell down around her face like the leaves of fall. Her candid smile shone like the stars on a cloudless night. Her freckles dotted her face in perfect chaos.
“3 years,” you mutter as your legs carry you to the back of your bike where the side pouch hung. You pull out a Coca-Cola and her jean jacket, neatly folded into a square.
You crack open the Coke and make your way over to the cliff, letting your feet sway over the edge. “3 years ago you joined the light,” you say to the jacket, “maybe one day I can join the light, too.”
