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An Unfortunate Day
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an unfortunate day
by Martin Newman

I.

    It was an unfortunate event, the day the world found the time to force me from the womb. Belched into the world by a sorrowful mother and an enraged father, whom left moments after my birth upon seeing my skin was not the milky white flesh as he had expected to spring from his seed. Months later my mother had no choice but to welcome his return and disregard his obvious spite for her and the rage inside of him for the both of us because of the mockery she had made of him in the delivery room. Her pride was too great and uncompromising; with the burden of my existence she could not afford to raise me alone and refused to compromise her dignity for the sake of our comfort and well being.
    My existence was wrought with pain from day one. Never a day did pass that I can remember that the fists of rage that manifested itself in my father did not go unnoticed. He quenched its thirst in the blood of my mother and I. Black and blue all over. The marks shifted from our faces, to our backs and arms, to our bellies and our asses, then back again. Three hundred and sixty five days a year we were accosted with painful reminders of motherís infidelity.
    By my early teens the abuse in my house had seeped through the cracks and crevices and soon, my dad had been inviting others home to partake. Strangers from the bar, co-workers from his job and sometimes strangers he met on the street. He would bring them home and together they would indulge themselves in the abuse of my mother physically, sexually. She would hide me in the closet, where I sat teary-eyed listening to the moans and groans that bellowed from her as the men laughed at her writhing body in pleasure. My anger and hatred for the man boiled my tears as they streaked down my bruised and puffy face. My motherís dignity was shattered; she was broken and no longer resisted. She probably felt she had brought it upon herself and soon her resentment toward me began to show. Perhaps it was resentment to the man that seduced her and planted the seed to all of our troubles inside her womb. But those troubles manifested in my frail body as I was snatched from the womb and sent screaming into the world as another little bastard as father liked to refer to me. And my real father, he could be dead, he could be the mayor, he could be a world famous musician or a scientist, most likely he was in prison, thatís where most of the men in our neighborhood wind up. He could be anywhere, anywhere but here with mother and I, protecting us, delivering us from the unquenched thirst of this manís unrelentless agenda of vengeance, his attempt to retake the dignity we had so easily stolen from him on that unfortunate day.

II.

    So on the streets I waited with God pissing down on me. Pissing hard in my face, down my shirt, into my mouth and eyes, drenching me, covering every inch of my body writing his name on my back and condemning me as the salty urine burned as it poured into my cuts and pounded the bruises that decorated my body. A vengeful God, an unrelentless God somebody that gave my wretchedness meaning, he showed me the way. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Today was an unfortunate day indeed. Just like every one of my waking hours since I was bastardized into this world, exploding from my mother into the fists of hate and rage. Judgment has been made. I waited. Cold, wet, thirsty, sticky-mouthed with adrenaline as I lay in wait, wielding an aluminum baseball bat in fists clenched tightly with excitement. When the time came I had almost chickened out. My heart clenched like my fists around the aluminum bat and I froze until I could see the whites of his eyes stare into mine with recognition. And as the first sounds of my name rolled off his tongue so did the aluminum knock them to the back of his throat and bring him down to the wet concrete. God pissed harder onto me, bruising me with each drop of rain shooting through my body and shivering my spine. Down again I brought the bat and down again and down again. For the first time I dare say I did pray to God. Please let this bloody heap at my feet stay down, let him die. But he would not. And again I bore down on his body as God pissed upon me, ignoring my pleas. Until finally it was over and the rain washed the life from him and down into the storm drain to be carried out amongst the debris of the city, the rats, the bones, down the drain and gone forever. I wept with a mixture of glee and fear as I hurried home and rid myself of the guilty bat in the river as I went.
    Upon arriving home, there were to be no celebrations. An eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. Once again the cold hand of his revenge sullied my young self. Mother found the time alone under the pitter-patter of raindrops upon our rooftop and against the windowpanes to make an exit. Having drawn a bath, she slit her wrists. Kissing the wounds and then with those reddened lips she pressed a farewell kiss for me upon her reflection in the bathroom mirror. As life slipped from her, she submerged herself into the comfort of the warm bath and her blood darkened the water as death beckoned. She must have just passed onto the other side when I arrived home; she was still warm and hadnít lost posture or composure. There my mother lay naked, wet and bloody. Clean again. Ready to be reborn. I knelt beside her and caressed her face. She was beautiful beneath the bruises and the cuts and the welts. I knew I could not stay in this house a minute longer. I wept at my mothers side, this time the feelings and the emotions were clearÖ. complete and utter sadness. I lifted her wounds to my lips and kiss them once each before placing my lips upon her forehead. I folded her arms in front of her and pulled the plug from the drain. And her life swirled like a mini-tornado as it rushed down the drain and gone forever. So did I, under the perpetual pissjob beating down upon me from the Heavens I ran far away and left it all behind.

III.

    The police were foolish. A murder suicide is how they billed the demise of my parents. They looked for me but I was long gone, maybe they thought me to be dead as well or they didnít care and figured I would surface in a ditch or drug den sooner or later. I didnít know, didnít care. I was long gone and started anew. Nineteen years old, the bruises and the lacerations on my soft shell had disappeared. My only reminder of those tumultuous seventeen years were the scars on my mind and a photo of my dearest mother that I keep on my persons at all times. I wish she were here now so she could see that I got out and I made something of myself. My fortunes have turned, but for how long I do not know. A new girl in my life, Natasha, soon to be mother Natasha and I swear Iíll do them both better than either one of my fatherís did for me. I would swear to it on the bible if I knew he wouldnít ignore me and do the exact opposite like he did that night he pissed in my face and beckoned the one person that loved me down the drain to be held captive when her wandering soul would come across the other soul let loose into the afterworld that night. Damn Him I thought. Iím on my own. MeÖNatasha and little Angel in the womb. I do not know how long it was after those thoughts crossed my mind that I opened my mouth and the piss fell in againÖstraight down and into the depths of me where it burned the world around me down to the ground. I stood in the ashes. It happened in increments, first the job disappeared, then the involvement with those crazy sons of bitches so I can keep the roof over Natashaís head, then the day the pissed turned to shit and I knew I could stand no more as the fires around me scorched me again and more viciously than before. Those crazy sons of bitches entered my home looking for their money and found only Natasha. Poor Natasha and angel in her womb. Death and sorrow follows me and it was only a matter of time before it found me happy and decided that my fate was to be different than that. Those crazy sons of bitches used my Natasha repeatedly before splitting her open and much like me forced Angel from the womb. Angelís fate was less cruel than mine. She died instantly and quickly. Her death didnít last nineteen years six months twenty days and six hours. The fire was in my eyes, in my soul, it boiled my blood, scorched my brain. It gave me one purpose. With my heart tight as a drum, pumping its hot juices through my veins and sending me on a path straight to hell. Once again I lay in wait. This time God didnít piss upon me, the fire in my veins was too hot, the sun to bright. I burned slowly from the inside out as I lay crouching there, machete in hand. I knew his routine. The perps had a boss that commanded the ravaging of my Natasha and I, I had commanded he be split open just as she had and all of his bile and filth be spilled onto the sun and bake on the concrete for all to see. But it would not be without its risks. He was well connected and important to the city, my actions must be swift, concise and clear. I knew his routine 12:00pm M-F lunch at his motherís cozy Italian dinner. That fat bastard, her mother will see what filth she has spawned when his entrails spills and bakes slowly on the concrete before her eyes. 12:45pm, my blood has boiled black and burnt, my flesh red from the concentrated beams. God has a new trick, holding me under the magnifying glass for the rays of the sun to come down and burn me alive. 1:30pm. Itís time. Mr. FATfuckingBASTARD it is time. I make my move. Leaping from behind the bush and running hard and fast upon him, heís unsuspecting and bloated with pride and pastaÖ. both will be laid out bloody before me before this is over. And there it isÖI wield the blade high in the air and bring it down upon his torso opening him up like a fish. And it did all come out covered in red and bile; mamaís cooking almost whole on the ground. He collapses into his own filth. A scream, a gunshot. And just like last time, I cannot stayÖ. I run and this time death follows me close behind taking pot shots every chance he gets. But Iím clever; I dodge him for as long as I can. Immortals donít get tired though, I do. And after nineteen years six months twenty days and six hours I am on my backÖbloody and above me, Death manifested in a crony of that FatFuckingBastard stands wielding an aluminum bat. He brings it down upon me, again and again. I am hard headed just as my father was; he brings it down again and againÖ. I watch death through blurry eyes as he crushes my soul and lets it run down into the drain.