He tasted metal, like he had a mouth full of spare change that sat in the sun too long and every body part hurt, from his throbbing head where he could swear he could hear his heartbeat down to his heels that were rubbed raw in his shoes. He spit on the ground next to him, a deep red staining the saliva as it smacked against the concrete. The wall his back pressed against being just about the only thing that felt real, he let out a guttural laugh that you could hear his pain ringing throughout, gaze shifting from the red-blue painted sky to the boy that stood before him.❝Who fucking knows who did it, man.❞ He grinned before doubling over and coughing up what he felt might’ve been a lung, but was realistically just more blood, more pain. ❝Jus’ get me home. We can figure the rest out later.❞
One may say, “it’s not every day you happen upon your friend beaten and bruised.” One may find themselves at a loss. One may scurry for another person, get help! Call the police! A hospital? Who can give CPR? Can you check blood pressure? Does this look infected to you?
Do you happen to have a — band-aid, good sir? Madame, or you?
However, if not a daily thing, then it’s bi-daily for Jungsu to happen upon your friend like this. Maybe tri-daily. Initial reaction isn’t to ask petty bullshit questions like losers and halfwit toe suckers do. Initial reaction is to grab an arm, drag the man to his feet. No success.
“Come on, get up.” The dead boy tries to get the other on their knees, at least, then to their shoes. Please walk. Jungsu uses an unusual gentle roughness in doing so. No success, again. The other is doubling over instead.
Roxy Clorox (a torture porn star name for sure) must have taunted someone. On a good day, Jungsu laughs his flat ass off at his silly-williness. But God! The dead little punk had enough of this for today. He’s already sporting a dashing black eye, the latest fashion trend among his brothers.
Curious sullen eyes, pecked out by the darkness, watch Roxy cough out more blood. Curious eyes watch their own mechanical arm use much more force than before. Man up, Roxy Clorox. Put that hyper-masculinity embedded in every male to good use.
Then they’re face to face. “You’re okay.” Pep talk. Then, Jungsu is helping Roxy stagger along toward the direction of their so-called home. An abandoned warehouse or factory or something of that nature. Scheduled for demolition some time next month. “Is anything broken? Can you breathe — at least halfway to normalcy?”
