Standing in the shadowss, the man in black cannot be seen. He may actually be the man in dark grey, but because of the starless night, and the shadowss to which he is currently calling home we can safely call him the man in black. The only sign of his existence, a small smoldering red light and a trail of smoke rising in to the nether spaces above his head.
Smoking is probably the only human thing about this so called man. He has no scruples, no morals, no redeaming factors that you or I might recognize. He makes it work for him though, somehow, some way.
His mind is working at a snail's pace, it always does, whether he is in iminent danger, or relaxedd iin a drugged state. Again, he manages to make this work for him. He is not rich, but he gets by. He has simple tastes that money rarely can buy. They are suffering to us, but to him they are the proof that he is alive, and the proof that he has power over others.
Despite the fact he has little need for the finer things in life, he does need money. Money is that which moves this world, and even an inhuman monster like this man in black requires some of it.
He needs enough money to survive, who knows for how long, as he does not plan in advance. He merely ios, and tomorrow will merely show up, maybe. That might actually be the most inhuman part of his existance. Unlike the rest of us, he has no plan for the future; no designs for a better life. He has no future, because he has learned that the only thing you can rely on is the here and now. He has seen too many people obliterateed with a smile on their face because of the promise of tomorrow to be bopthered with tomorrow. He knows it may never come.
His slow mind is picturing the next few minutes; the edge of the future for him. He can see what he needs to do, where he needs to go, and how he needs to get there.
Slowly the smoldering red light is let go. It tumbles end over end to the ground, where a dark boot crushes the life out of it.
In front of the man in black is a large wooden staircase. It is a wooden fire escape. In a certain way, this amuses the man in black. Who makes a fire escape out of the one material that is most likely to burn first in a fire? A smile momentarily flashes accross his gaunt face as he pictures another man, a random, barely corporeal man running down the tairs, attempting in vein to out run the fire chasing him. The consuming flames eating through the path to the fake man. The fake man unable to gain the necessary speed to outrun the lflames. His dying scream cascades accross the imagination of the man in black, leaving behind it the echo of self satisfaction and pleasure that only other people's pain can with a man like this.
Slowly, the man in black places his dark booted foot on the first step. He is testing the fire escape. Testing it's noise creation properties. He is testing it's value as an ascension device to his goal.
His goal is the top apartment. His goal is whatever value can be found inside that apartment. His goal is fun.
With ease and determination, the man in black begins the up hill climb to his destination. He quickly learns that the fire eascape is not sturdy, not stead. It sways slightly under his slight weight.
Inside the apartment, the other man, the intended victim stirs slightly in a fitfull sleep. This man is the polar opposite of the man currently snaking his way towards a confrontation. This man is wearing guy pajamas. In this case, boxer shorts and an aframe tshirt. Both are white. Both are clean.
The man in white is slumbering because he has things to do tomorrow. He has a plan. He has a future.
The man in black hsa reached the top step, a slight breeze ruffling the fabric of his hoodie. Slowly the man reaches out his gloved hand to test the nob. He is not surprised to find it locked. His target isn't completely stupid. He quickly changes his mind on that subject. The door has a window in the middle of it. The window is open, and the only thing between the man in black and the sweet contents of this other man's life is a cheep screen.
A flash of steel later and the screen is disintegrated.
The man in white stirs again. He is too warm, wrapped in just a sheet. He wishes he understood why the world was so warm. Maybe it has something to do with his weight, maybe it has something to do with his youth, maybe it has something to do with nothing. All he knows is that he needs to windows open all the time so he can sleep, otherwise the heat of living in an insulated box is just too oppressive.
The man in black is in, allowed in by the necessities of life for the man in white.
Darkness moves slow and cat like through the apartment. As he goes he is catloguing anything and everything of value. He is adding up the prices he will get for everything, and doing math to decide how much time that will give him. How much life it will buy. Truth is, he is not looking to buy life, he is looking to buy death, but delayed death.
The man in black wants to die, because his life is pain. He lacks the self discipline and the guts to end his own life, so he is attempting to destroy his life. He is attempting to kill himself through food and drink; through smokes and drink; through dangerous living, he hopes to one day just fall apart.
He moves on to the bedroom, where he sees the man in white. He sees what he must do. He will have to silence the man in white. Cripple him so the darkness can provide what he needs with no interferance.
The man in white rolls over on to his back, his breathing laboured. It is clear to the man in black that the man in white has not lived a comfortable life either. For a moment he wonders if their tortures have been similar. This thinking never lasts long. The man in black cares nothing for others.
The man in white is dreaming. It is a fitfull dream, but somewhere deep inside his being, his instincts, honed on the edge of a knife because of a hard life, try and wake him. His gut tells him something is wrong, but he is deep in REM sleep. Deep in a world of his own design that is safe and comforting, and at the same time dark and dangerous. At any point he could slip from pleasant seens of rolling oceans, beatiful women, and easy living, to dark blood drenchedd shores, screaming, pain, destruction.
White man's mind and gut finally manage to get on the same page as the man in black approaches the bedside. The mind attempts to wake the white man. His eyes burst open.
He sees the man in black, recognition dawns on his face,, but his muscles do not react. He is paralysed.
The man in black smiles knowingly. He has seen this before. It is the shock of knowing the future, knowing the pain to come. Few people have the strength to react at this moment. Few people can fight off the man in black when he is standing over them. At this moment the man in black is intent on the white man's possessions. He is intent on his own desires and pleasure. His twisted grin expresses this to the world in such a way that a thousand words could never accomplish.
The man in the white tshirt and boxers screams inside his own head. He struggles to move. His mind sends a million messages of action to his limbs, none of which seem to be getting through.
The man in white knows what is happening. He has been a party to it in the past. The man in black is here for everything he has worked for. He knows the man in black wants not only his possessions, buit he wants to ruin everything. He wants to break the man in white. It is whta he gets off on.
The man in white knows that if he doesn't act now, all will be lost.
Channeling all of his strenght, all of his desire, all of his dreams, the man in white sends one final message to his limbs. His hand moves, his kneck lifts his head up to look the man in black in the eyes.
Maybe this time will be different for both of them.
There's a little poetic prose, if you will. Essentially a giant metaphor. Did I mention I was trying to quit smokeing?
Anyway, there you have it, a little something something to get you through friday night.
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