The Accident

From the very moment when he awoke, they were there. They had been there when he had fallen asleep, too, but not as close as they were now. Last night they had just eyed him from behind his rancid pile of clothes and the boxes of half-tinkered junk. Now they were right by the bedside, knives ready and sharp.

He felt fear – stark terror, in all honesty – at the sight of the cutters. They were there to collect like they always were and they would hurt him like they always did. He wiped his nose on the bed sheet, the sweat glistening like pearls on his face. He could already feel them rummaging around inside, wringing his body like a damp cloth. Then the interrogation began.

It’s not in the blood, it’s not here!

Sniveling bastard, where is it, WHERE IS IT?

Cut him some more, make him feel it...

You owe us, remember? For waking you up? For letting you SLEEP!?

We OWN you.

Again! Again! Make him FEEL it!

PAY UP PAY UP PAY UP

He threw himself out of bed and nearly threw up on the floor. He tried the bottle by the bed for mercy, but it was already empty. He could feel them working on him, cutting at the nerves underneath his skin, just deep enough that he couldn’t scratch it.

He stumbled to the bedside chair and covered himself with yesterday's rags. His wallet was still in the back pocket of his jeans. He counted the money. Two hundred crowns – just enough to pay the piper if he abstained from luxuries like food and bus fare. It would have to do.

With clothes on and wallet in hand, he rushed to the front door. He paid no mind to the weeks of unwashed dishes in the sink, nor to the long-dead houseplants on the windowsill, and especially not to the ever-closed blinds. He had no time for it.

He needed to get to the dealer’s house.

He needed his fix.

***

He had barely cleared the apartment staircase when he saw one of the cutters creeping about. It hid in a patch of shadow right by the door, its fanged grin gleaming from a wayward strand of sunlight. There was no other way past it, no other way out of the apartment building. He gritted his teeth and slammed his shoulder into the door.

Steel flashed in the corner of his eye and he hissed as it carved a bloody gash in his brain. When the door crashed open, his visual cortex was shredded into mince by the sudden onslaught of daylight. He veered across the courtyard path, narrowly avoiding collision with a neighbor as the light blinded him. It seemed like hours passed until he could see again. Slowly, outlined against the glaring light, little blood-tinted shadows appeared.

There was a grin and a knife waiting for him in every single one of them.

He rushed out onto the street and towards the bus stop. The summer air was clammy enough on its own, but with the pace he kept, he was practically drowning in sweat before he had cleared a third of the way there. He could hear their menacing whispers in the trees.

...almost, almost...

...break the bones, yes, the bones...

...has to FEEL it...

They were closing in on him, but the bus stop was just down the hill. From there he would soon be in his dealer’s neighborhood. Almost there, almost home. His heart was racing now, bad enough that passersby could hear it. That’s how it seemed to him, at least. He tried not to look at anyone, hoping they wouldn’t see his drenched t-shirt or smell his unwashed body. He felt filthy, like a dog crawling back to eat its own vomit.

They see you, idiot. They know what you are...

He was at the foot of the hill when the first kid on a bicycle sped past him. Then came another and then a third. He barely registered them through the churning of his stomach and the ache in his bones. He just needed to get to the bus stop. That was it. Just one hit and the cutters would go away. They would leave him alone again, hide in the shadows for a few blissful hours... Just one little taste...

The crash almost toppled him over. It was like being hit by a baseball bat. In front of him, he saw the girl swan dive right over the handlebars of her bicycle. The wet sound of her face hitting the pavement shocked his system enough to forget the knives.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

The child was howling. Images flashed through his mind: broken jaws, shattered teeth, grated faces, police sirens, forced sobriety. He suddenly felt freezing cold. There were no other adults in sight. He had to deal with this himself.

You did this! You did!

...they’ll call you killer…

HANG HANG

He shook like a leaf as he approached the kid. Over her shoulder he could see the blood spatter on the pavement. It was steadily growing, drip by drip, falling off her chin. He braced himself and touched her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she cried.

“No-no-no, it’s okay… I’m okay, a-are you, uh, you okay?”

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She mewled and cried, whimpers escaping through bloodied teeth. The little bow in her hair was hanging loose. Her eyes were filled with misery.

“Ow, ow! I wanna go home!” she cried, looking up for help from the shivering man standing beside her.

Look at what you did! You! You!

“I ha-ave to t-take a look at you f-first. Is that o-okay?”

She nodded weakly, still mewling.

He knelt down beside her and looked her face over. Blood dripped from her lower lip, which had already grown fat, blue and swollen. It looked awful, but the jaw was intact. All her teeth were still there, and the nose was in one piece. There were abrasions across her face, but they weren’t deep.

Killer! You!

She would live.

“It’s just a busted lip, I think… D-do you li-ive around here?”

She nodded and pointed towards a row of houses. She had stopped her crying and was just staring in shock, blood and tears drying in the summer sun.

“Come on, I-I’ll take you home,” he said as he helped her to her feet and led her bicycle for her.

The house she lived in was right by the street. It was a blue, wood-paneled house with white details and a small, well-kept garden. A tall flight of stairs led to the front door. The girl was sobbing a little as she climbed the stairs. She disappeared inside.

He heard a woman’s shriek from inside and it sent him into a panic. He couldn’t face the mother, not like this, not now. He saw the cutters crawling from the bushes, wide, sadistic leers on their gaunt faces.

Oh, you will FEEL it!

Killer! Monster!

HURT HURT

He left the bicycle by the stairs and ran towards the bus stop. The bus was just about to leave when he forced himself through the closing doors. He curled up by the window. The cutters were pressing against him, slowly carving away at his flesh. He felt the white-hot pain coming in waves.

He needed his fix badly now. But as he saw the blue house disappear behind the bus, all he could think of was the pool of blood on the pavement and the slow drip from the girl’s busted lip.

***

“Come on, come on, just open it.”

He whimpered to himself and banged on the door again. Why was it taking so long? He fidgeted with the plastic bag in his hand, shifted his weight from one leg to the other, and tippy-tapped his feet. It didn’t make it go any faster, but he just couldn’t stay still. His heart was furious, like a coked-up rat trying to eat its way out of a barrel.

Idiot! You’re dead now! You’re done!

Hurry up, hurry up!

WHERE IS IT WHERE IS…

The cutters' shrieking quieted as the door opened. A mousy woman in her mid-thirties stood in the opening. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. He still felt like a dog.

“Hi, uh, see… there was an accident…”

Her eyes widened in recognition.

“Oh! You’re the one my daughter crashed into with her bike! I’m so sorry, are you hurt?”

MAKE IT HURT MAKE IT HURT

“No-no, I’m, uh, I’m… fine. How’s the girl?”

“We just came back from the doctor’s office. She’s fine, all things considered. Her lip is cracked and she has a slight concussion, but no broken teeth or bones. Thank the heavens!”

The woman smiled at him.

“She said you helped her home. That was very kind of you.”

His fingers tightened around the plastic bag. He could feel the cutters breathing down his neck

“Yeah, well, I, uh… I felt bad for her.”

No, no, he wouldn’t dare...

He did it! He did it!

PAY UP PAY UP

He tried to ignore them. It felt like a hundred daggers were pointed at his back. He steeled himself and continued.

“I felt bad for her, so I, uh… I got her this…”

The woman gave him a puzzled look as he handed her the plastic bag. She looked inside of it, and her face broke into a wide smile.

“Oh, that’s so sweet! Wait just a sec, I’ll go get her…”

The woman disappeared into the house, leaving him to hold the bag. He could hear her calling the girl’s name, an ululating “Nora!” that echoed through his nerves. The cutters were murderously silent all of a sudden. The knives at his back pressed a little bit deeper, enough to feel like they were drawing blood.

A moment later the woman returned with the little girl trailing behind her. Nora’s face was black and blue, but she beamed with carefree joy.

“Hi!” she squeaked, chipper as ever.

“Look, Nora, what the nice man got for you!”

He chuckled nervously and reached into the bag, pulling out a sparkly blue plushie of a little dog. It had cost him the better part of two hundred crowns. The girl’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights.

“So, I, uh, felt, a b-bit sorry for you. For the, uhm, accident, I mean. I-I want you to have t-this.”

“Oh, thank you, mister!” the little girl said as she was given the plushie. She hugged it, said her thanks again, and sped off into the house with the cherished prize.

He smiled at the sight, a great weight seeming to fall off him. For a second, he barely felt them cut him.

“That was so sweet of you!” the woman said again, the sound of playtime echoing from the house. “Thank you so much!”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, feeling a little less like a dog. He shook the mother’s hand, and she didn’t even mention how clammy his palms were. As he backed off to leave, he wished her daughter a speedy recovery.

The woman looked at him with a sudden pang of concern and said, “I hope you’ll be alright yourself, you know.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I, uh… yeah, I’ll be fine.”

They both said their goodbyes and the woman went back into the house, closing the door behind her.

He stood for a few moments in silence on the porch. The air felt strangely cold. He took a long, deep breath and turned to walk down the stairs.

The whole world had become knives and grins, waiting there just for him.

This was going to hurt.