By BBMSN
I woke up to find myself sprawled out on the hardwood floor of my apartment. I reached up to
my head, and tried to find the spot that was throbbing like a motherfucker. There was blood
matting up my hair, and I could feel a gash. Not too bad. I'd had worse.
Before I stood up, I tried to recall how I'd ended up on the floor. Then it hit me. That little twit
med student had come over. The cocksucker had clocked me in the head with the brass urn. I
had to chuckle when I remembered the look on his face when I told him that is was my mother's
ashes that spilled out, when they were really my dog's.
I stood up and brushed the gritty ash out of my chest and ab hair. Damned dog was still
messing up the place, even dead.
Someone knocked at my door, which was surprising. I didn't get many visitors. Had even
fewer friends. Most of the ones I'd had, I'd beaten the crap out of eventually. My temper always
seemed to get the best of me. Ever since I was a kid, once I hit puberty and got so strong, I
hadn't suffered fools lightly. Used to freak the varsity jocks out, when, as a fourteen-year-old
freshman, I would pummel the tar out of them right in the hallway. In front of everyone. Freaked
out the shop teacher too, that time he grabbed me off two senior wrestlers, especially when I
turned my fury toward him and busted three locker doors by slamming him into them over and
over till he lost consciousness. Spent the rest of the semester lifting, and at fourteen, your body
can really respond. I know mine did. My testosterone levels must have been completely off the
chart, because by the time I hit fifteen, I looked like a twenty-five year old musclehead. I kept at it
for the strength. I loved the strength. I never did go back to high school. Just lied about my age,
and worked construction jobs. Bounced at night. Did alright for myself.
I opened the door a crack and looked out. It was a cop.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"Sir, we got a 911 call reporting a problem at this address."
"No problem here, officer."
"Yeh, well, I still have to check it out. Would you mind opening the door a little wider?"
I opened the door all the way. It only took a second for the cop to soak in what was standing
in front of him. I loved catching the way a guy's look changed when he really soaked in my build.
That moment of recognition, when they realize "this guy could take me." I saw it on this cop, and
noticed his fingers flinching reflexively toward his holster.
He swallowed hard, then stuck his head in a little and looked around. He noticed the dented
urn on the floor, the broken lamp next to it, and some other disarray.
"What's your name?" he asked me, but without as much swagger as he'd had a second ago.
"Zack...Zack Tedesco."
"You sure everything is alright?" he said, somewhat uncertain. "Is that blood on your head?"
I reached up and touched my head. The blood was all crusty now, and any bleeding had
stopped.
"Yeh, it's all good. I bumped my head on a shelf, and lost my temper. Sometimes I bust
things up a little. Like this goddam urn that fell off the shelf and hit my head," I said, as I leaned
over and picked it up in one hand. I started squeezing, and felt the heavy brass slowly giving into
the strength of my thick hairy fingers. God, I loved using the freak strength in my hands. I crushed
the urn like a cheap beer can, until it was flattened out, then crushed it even more. Then I
dropped it to the floor. My huge hand ached for something more to flatten.
"jesus..." said the cop. He glanced at his own hands, then at mine. Almost twice his size,
and much more heavily muscled.
"Yeah," I said, " I got some issues."
The cop swallowed again, then back out of the door. "Everything seems to be ok, then?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, but thanks for checking up."
I shut the door on him, shaking my head. Last thing I need was another run in with the
cops. I went into my bedroom and stood before the full-length mirror. The dried up blood had
darkened and hardened, but the throbbing was gone. I never had managed to feel pain for very
long. I looked so fucking huge in the mirror, no wonder that cop had been nervous. I clenched a
fist and looked at the big thick knuckles protruding out, covered by my toughened skin. Fist so
big, it looked like I had a built-in set of brass knuckles on my hand. In the mirror's reflection, I
noticed the desk in the corner. The one with no laptop where there should have been one. I
squeezed my fist so hard the knuckles crackled and popped. It was one thing for the college boy
to clock me in the head when I was getting rough with him. It was another for him to steal
something from me. It was time to go on a hunt. For med student meat. As a warm-up, I punched
my fist through my bedroom wall. The wall that separated my building from the vacant one next to
it. The brick wall. My fist busted up the old brick like cheap plaster, putting a hole clear through.
Now I'd be able to see when my crackhead neighbors were home. Maybe I'd have to tussle with
them sometime, see how easy they break. But for now, I had to do some detective work.
I knew the little fucker lived on campus, and it didn't take me long to find out which dorm
was used by the med students. I figured all I'd have to do is hang out on the quad for awhile.
Shouldn't take long to spot my prey. I had to chuckle at the way the students gave me wide berth
when they saw me. Guess I shoulda washed the blood crust out of my hair before heading
outside. Instead, I pulled a knit cap out of my jacket and put it on. Not that it changed much, the
kids still got out of my way like a bunch of rabbits. Maybe they'd caught the scent of a hunter. I
finally found a bench with a good view of the dorm entrance, and sat down.
Two hours later, I spotted him. Sweet looking kid. Pure white bread. Complete with required
back pack and ball cap. Promising future. Too bad. You never knew what was going to happen to
you when you went out for your day. You could get hit by a bus. Or, you could cross Zack
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