Flash #3: the Devil Flies Kites and Wears Ray-Bans
There were three and he was the fourth.
His turban was bright and multicolored like a proud peacock's feathers. He even cocked around like one, jiving his head left and right, constantly adjusting his old Ray-Bans on his nose, like he was a Bollywood actor.
Psh. As if he could even be a Bollywood actor.
He -- let's call him the Kite Master -- and his three henchmen were menaces to the rest of us on our block. He'd walk onto one of our roofs, take a kite, set it aflame, wisp into the air and fly it straight into one of our prized possessions to set it afire. All with time to spare to taunt us before his burnt to mere ash.
What a waste.
The Kite Master had thousands of kites, all bought with the cash he raked up from the yocals in legit fights. By now I'd have expected nobody would even bother challenging him, but there's always some idiot -- usually a young bloke trying to prove something to a pretty spectator -- who takes on this vile fiend and perpetuates the endless cycle of petty destruction.
Me? Nobody touches my fuckin' kite.
It was the golden hour of the day and I stood atop my terrace while birds serenaded the skies. All my neighbors have known me long enough to understand I just fly the kite. I don't fight, I don't challenge. I fly the bloody kite. It lifts me up from the ground and I soar with the clouds as cool winds slide across my cheeks. My body tingles as the paper flutters in controlled chaotic contortions and, magically, the days of knocking down indigenous huts with an M16 stays bound on the Earth while I escape that heavy shame of human civilization.
I am set free.
But then, that fucker took it all away. He burned it right in front of the sunset where it flew. I was in ecstatic joy and didn't notice the flame dive-bombing my vessel like a bloody suicidal maniac. He was crazed and sadistic, voraciously eating the souls that flew, untouched and unbothered in happiness.
My purple, pink, and lilac beauty lit faster than dried spike grass in the desert. His kite had just barely touched mine, but the flame had already consumed its fragile body, and I knew it was over. I watched as my only love burned in front of the sun -- a green flame, probably chemicals from the color's dye -- and sunk back down to this hellhole.
My neck cracked as I turned to my right. He just smiled at me and spun his crispy phoenix until it was no more.
Those sunglasses… Those fucking sunglasses.
Three hours forty nine minutes and seventeen seconds had passed. I had followed them ever since they left our block. All my neighbors warned me, but then I warned them. He needed to pay. They all needed to pay.
My hand stung and dripped its warmth as I walked down the alley. I kept adjusting the glass-encrusted line I held between my hands in angst. Pain had always seemed to focus my mind on the task at hand and for this one I needed all the pain I could bear without making my hands useless. Those I would need even more.
The first henchmen -- a chubby short man with a divot in his forehead -- stepped out of the bar's back entrance and right into my arms. The string cut my fingers before I got far enough through his throat to do the deed. The fat wanker didn't even bother to scream but I shook like a junkie thinking of my winged spirit burning like a precious leaf. Sweat glistened into my eyes and stung them when I felt a presence piercing into my being.
The Kite Master was ahead in the streetlights at the end of the alley. Motionless and alone.
I dropped the fatty's limp corpse, my body stained with the blood of a thousand souls. But he just looked at me. And he smiled.
"You are the fucking DEVIL," I whispered. I know he heard me. He said nothing, refused to react. But he heard me.
I know because he tipped down his sunglasses to reveal two gaping holes in his face, the endless vats that insatiably devoured our souls with every kite he set aflame. And then he laughed deep from his belly -- he knew I was right.
And I knew I was his to own.