The Delicate

The brown, steel-toed boot caused Truman to fall.

The second blow broke his nose.

His body struck the ground limp. A marionette whose master severed the strings. He was a pile of discarded bones laced with bloody linens. The alley was wet from rain, and clouds built over the city, thunder shouting threats across the sky.

Scattered trash cans and scurrying rats watched Truman’s fall as neglectful transients left the dank alley seeking shelter from the oncoming storm. Auburn-drenched moonlight and sky-soaked haze caused the shadows to come alive. 

He lay alone, vulnerable, and unconscious.

The cartilage in his nose caved, popping sharp and abrupt, echoing into his childhood, sending him back to his parents and memories he thought he lost. He did not return to birthdays or stories told to him as he lay snuggled beneath the covers. He returned to a cherished moment of his parents giving him sheets of bubble wrap. When they received packages in the mail he would stand near, hands held tightly together in anticipation, silent and wide-eyed, trying to guess if the air pockets on the wrapping were large or small. His parents opened the boxes in his direction giving a forced frown. Styrofoam. His sturdy shoulders slumped as he walked away. When there was wrapping, he snatched it from his mother or father’s hand and headed out the door, not returning until nightfall.

No older than seven, he ran about the streets with his friends, popping the wrapping, pulling the trigger of a gun. All of the kids met under the second streetlight north of his house, each bringing their own treasure for battle. Snap-Caps received the greatest awe, their realistic gunshot sounds coveted by everyone in the group. These were scarce. Most mothers frowned upon things promoting violence.

Truman and his friends battled anyway, their violence unleashed at an early age. They took turns playing hunter and hunted, the designation usually determined by a quick, mindless game of “rock, paper, scissors”.

Truman always chose rock.

The rules of the game often changed. The only requirement was the hunted to give a dramatic death. The difficulty of the game was finding hiding spots not previously used. Living in a small town, this was an arduous task.

The hunter snuck up, weapon of choice in hand, and, when close enough, let loose. The hunted self-administered seizure movements with each pop, finally falling with the dispersion of ammunition.

An act of delicate grace.

Bodies fell to the ground, war-torn soldiers, as the hunter stood over, admiring their kills. Sometimes, a person added a few twitches after he lay still.

Truman was not as graceful during real attacks.

Unlike childhood games, his body did not twitch. His friends would have been immensely displeased with his performance. The blood flowed freely from his nose. With the blood so went the memories. Some entered his mouth, flowing into the street, making a path down his face like a river cutting through stone. The faded brown boots quickly moved back as the blood flowed toward them. It had already turned into a large puddle, covering the alley.

It’s hard to decipher blood from rain puddles in the dark. 

A second set of boots, slick black, stepped through the blood.

Truman’s jaw shattered.

The feet stood still, waiting for movement, bloody tips only inches from his face. The assailant reached down and wiped his boots with gloved fingers. The alley was quiet. With each blood drop, the puddle spawning from the face increased in size, spreading toward the hiding shadows.

After a few moments of stillness, the first set of boots made a nervous motion to leave but halted when the second set began kicking Truman. The methodical, pendulum movements violently connected with different parts of his body.

The hesitant assailant approached but did not strike.

The black boots were too involved to hear sirens bouncing off the walls. The kicking ceased with the tugging at his arm. The assailant stood still; once the siren registered, the boots ran.

Truman lay unconscious, blood bubbles escaping from his mouth.