Triggering Content:
Every story has a beginning. This is mine, sitting here in this shitty apartment, hearing the neighbor get beaten.
Kale gritted his teeth, rocking back and forth. Control it, control it. It's just like any other day. He internally screamed. A handgun rested on a brown, rickety nightstand. He eyed it as his breath came out in short, erratic puffs. Sweat accumulated, dripping off his nose. He ran his hand through his neat hair, ruffling it. The woman next door let loose a scream.
Kale could hear every time that bastard laid hands on her. Every thud, scream, and sniffle. She had a little boy, too, and that man probably laid hands on him as well.
He glanced down at his hands. They wavered as his eyes searched his pale skin. Old, useless, wrinkly. Nothing much to live for now. As his mind wandered, a flashback resurfaced.
Kale's eyes widened as his breath stilled. Slowly, the pounding in his chest exhilarated. Hot, sunny, a mixture of tall green and brown grass.
A circle of trees. The roar of the Huey blades behind him. His body trembled as his arms moved of their own accord, mimicking the pose of holding an m16. Something was wrong. He blinked multiple times while cocking his head. Why wasn't he standing? The heat is not right, too cold. The absence of a helmet on his head and the missing pack brought him back to reality.
His mind slowly pushed that memory forward. That day, his platoon was under attack at the landing zone. Fresh off the helicopter, he saved his CO. It was dangerous for him to get lost in his memories, especially with a weapon so close to him.
The woman shrieked again, breaking him from his daze. How long had he sat here? Unable to act, listening to the horrors endlessly. He should do something. This may be what he needed. To exit this world spectacularly. To feel the heat on his face and the tension in his muscles.
Kale sprang forward, stumbling lightly. He stormed from the bedroom to the front door. He ripped the door open, slamming it behind him.
The altercation in the apartment beside him increased. "What was that, you dirty whore?! I told you to keep it down!" The man spoke while moving his hand to strike her.
The son of the woman spoke while glaring at their abuser. With his black eye still forming, "I hate you!"
"What do you want, you little punk?" Stomping toward the boy, the man raised his fist.
"Reggie, leave Derrick alone. You know how stupid kids are!" The woman spoke pleadingly as she crawled from the floor.
Who asked you?!" Reggie shouted as he went after her again.
"I hate you," Derrick acrimoniously felt on edge, reiterating. His body buzzed. Anything to shift focus away from his mom.
"What was that!" Reggie shouted as he advanced toward Derrick.
"Apologize to Reggie, Derrick!"
"No, I won't apologize; he needs to go!" Derrick stood up clutching his fist.
Reggie, while advancing toward Derrick, had one thought on constant circulation. Who does this brat think he is? The apartment's occupants heard two knocks. Reggie stopped advancing and screeched, "Go get that woman! I'm going to show this brat some manners!"
"Reggie, no, he is just a stupid kid!" The woman's face twisted. Swallowing a lump, she slowly moved toward the door.
"Go get the door!" Reggie yelled again.
"Okay, damn it!" She moved toward the door in a faster manner. Derrick's mother glanced over her shoulder at them.
Reggie swaggered forward, slamming his right fist into his left hand. "Ready for a beat down kid."
Derrick asserted himself. "Go ahead, I'm not afraid of you!"
Reggie grinned. "Alright, kid, you don't mind if I break a few bones, do you?"
Opening the door, she sighed in relief. "Oh, Kale, do you need something?"
"Can I take out the trash?" Speaking gruffly, Kale noticed the slight bruising on her face. He glanced up and down, cataloguing all of her abrasions.
"If by trash you mean the dirtbag." She leaned against the doorway. "He just started going after my kid, so go ahead."