TheChez.net

by Hydo033

It was a cold December night in a place where fancy cars don’t roll, my pride was in my fist and my mercy was forgotten long ago. I left him there, on the ground, lifeless. My only concern was the throbbing pain in my knuckle like a failing heart giving its last few beats. Each dull throb brought forth new red. Crimson streaks painted my hand, in a beautiful pattern compared to the ugly disaster I just created.  A mixture of awe and respect surround me as jaws dropped, hearts pounded, and motions froze. I turned myself toward the door fearing repetition. My boot thundered onto the floor like a signature that would leave indelible marks on their eardrums. The cold touch of the door handle bit my hand as my cooled, hardened blood flaked to the ground. I turned the handle methodically and stepped my way outside in the freshly fallen snow. I made my resolution. As I stepped outside, my boots made an imprint in the snow that night, that first day of the year. It was deep, defined, and packed. It was a print that would remain with you forever, even when the snow melts away.