Short Story: Cold Hate

Cold Hate

The doughnut dangled into my Dad’s mouth. His warm breath melting the sugar crystals. The lovely cool strawberry jam dripping into his gob. My eyes grew and I began to drool. I had to get that doughnut.

The box lay empty, except for the crumbs. But he wouldn’t just walk over and ask if I want it. Me, a street urchin.

He turned his head and looked at me. Then he smiled through the water streaked glass. He pulled the doughnut away from his mouth.

He walked to the window. Then, looking at me through the glass, he closed his jaws around a segment of the doughnut. He began chewing in a teasing manner. A happy smile spread across his face.

My ragged clothes and messy hair were a sight. I looked down, and turned away.

My feet dragged along the floor. I looked up.

The sun was sinking into the houses on the horizon. Slowly and gradually the cold night was closing in like a blanket of darkness. The curtain slid across the world, engulfing it into eternal night.

I approached a shop marked SALADIN’S TAKE AWAY.

I marched around the back and knocked on the door.

Neil (one of the workers) sneaked me a couple of chips and a kebab. A shadow slid across by the bins. I eyed it warily.

Suddenly it pounced.

It landed on me. A loud screech made me realise it was a cat. Straight across the cheek. I threw it across the alley and it turned and bounded away. I put my fingers onto the wound. A steady stream of blood trickled trickled down my hand and dripped off. My brown tunic wore a hole. My grey trousers hung loosely around my legs.

I plucked my Knumb Knackers from inside my top and slid on my knuckle dusters. The Knumb Knackers (flail to you) were heavy duty iron. The bars were made of rusty iron,  and the chain was barbed. Spikes hung dangerously from the ends of the bars.

I had pure white bandage wrapped around my filthy hands. Shards of sharp glass were glued to the bandage.

I styled my hair up. Red and black hair, frozen stiff on my head. Coldness.

The freezing air wrapped around my head. Freezing my brain inside it’s casing.

My eye’s were icy blue. Cold eye’s… evil heart.

I had little flesh. I was anorexic.

I turned to see a band of youths emerge from behind the bins. Black ninja bands spiralling around their bodies. Red belts bound their suits, and red straps around their heads. Only two eyes as red as the pale sunset peered through the holes slit into the hideous face masks. A pile of black hair sat on their heads.

The three of them stood there towering like ten foot giants. A small faded logo badge was sewn into their left chest side. A small face as dark as the night set onto a blood red backing. Two swords were slotted upon their backs.

Each wore a golden medallion with a face of the devil, and yin-yang’s for eyes.

The skin surrounding their eyes were tanned. A deep voice echoed from beneath their hollow face masks.

“Bow to thee lord. Do you wish to join the Dragon Ninja’s?”

He removed the two swords from his back sword holder.

“I wish” I replied.

Several days later I had become on of the Dragon Ninja’s.

I learnt karate steps 1-487 and 488-904. I had gained a dan black in martial studies. Judo, Ju-Jitsu, Kickboxing, Karate and Wan Kan Satsu.

I ran to the barbers shop. I was searching for one thing. Revenge!

Who would of guessed my father would leave me on the back seat of a top deck of a double decker. You wouldn’t think it would you? Well he did. I hated him for it. He left me with a note labelled: To whomever may find. In the envelope was an A4 sheet of paper which read:

To whomever may find,

As money grows short,
As my firm goes ‘rupt,
This is no home for a child.
With a mother, deceased.
In a bed to rest, forever.
I’m in tears as I write this letter.
Can’t believe my baby is gone.
But please to Whomever may find.
Help my baby grow strong and live in peace.
For my sake.

Mr. Karte

Now it was pay back time. I got the Dragon Ninja’s to come as back up. I was gonna’ kick some ruddie poo.

I crept in with my electric guitar. I raised it high above me, ready to bring it pounding down upon his head when he spun round screaming “STOP! Is that the way to treat an expensive musical instrument!”

“Daddy, you know I love ya’, but you got a hell of a lot to learn about rock’n’roll!”

It struck his head, and as it did so, I heard a wail like a siren screaming through my ears. I heard chords I’d never heard before. It was beautiful.

So I took my guitar and I smashed it against the walls. And I smashed it against the floor. And I smashed it against the body of a varsity cheerleader. I smashed it against the windows. I smashed it against the door. I smashed it against the bonnet of a bright red car. Snarling, I hurried up the street and smashed it against a Harley Davidson. The Harley howled in pain; the guitar howled in hate. And then there was silence.

The guitar bled for about a week.

But not it’s own blood. The blood of my father.

My father?

I couldn’t call him my father. More like a raging bull who deserved to be hung, drawn and quartered.

He was.

So I had my revenge.

Pure, sweet and beautiful.