Fuckin' Dirt

 It was fuckin' cold. Dirt hated this gig. He wanted to fuck off' back to his crib and take a dozer on a bottle of liquor and the half pack of camels he had left.  He didn't though. Back when he was a kid it was fine standin' under the midtown bridge pushin' teenths to the dopers that lived on this side. Fuck he'd never seen so much money back then, he could stay up all the time and still have the cash to throw away on designer shoes and nice leather jackets. These days though, this kind of cash could barely keep him going throughout the day if he didn't go home till late. he preferred smashin' heads. Now that was good money. he'd gotten pretty good at it too! Wore gloves and everything, real professional. He figured he must have done something to fall out of the boss's good graces; Big Davey to scabs like Dirt. He wasn't sure what it was. He'd pinched a little dope but, who hasn't?  The boss wouldn't punish him like this if he'd minded. He noticed a tall shadow walking towards him from the far end of the bridge. He always felt weird when he saw a sale coming. part of him wanted walk right up to the fucker instead of staring for so long, but you didn't always keep your head on that way. wouldn't want to spook the wrong person. Especially not if they happen to be some huge asshole wearing a large trench coat. Dirt moved his hand around the grip of the cannon in his jacket pocket. he hadn't used it on anyone before, if he needed to he'd rather fuck someone up with a knife or his hands if he couldn't just piss off somewhere safe.

Several nervous seconds passed as the stranger approached. Dirt made a face like he felt perfectly safe, as he watched the man. Unexpectedly, the man ceased his unhurried pace several feet from Dirt.

"'You Steven?"

A shiver pushed down his spine, he didn't like that this man knew his name. He didn't let the alarm show on his face though. He guessed this was just one of the bosses men and he'd better play nice.

"Call me Dirt, you wanna do this? Cuz, i don't like fuckin' around chattin' n' shit while im working."

"You know what? Now that I think about it neither do I." The man rumbled

Dirt may have dropped out of school but he wasn't stupid. He knew what that meant.  The boss must have really minded him pinchin' that dope after all. Smooth like, before the man's words finished echoing He'd pulled the cannon and leveled it at the stranger's head.

"Look man, I don't think your life's worth a couple bumps of dust." He was backing up as he spoke. a few steps more and he'd be able to turn tail out of the underpass.

The man inhaled. Dirt reacted instinctively and turned to run. Before his line of sight broke he saw the man contort unnaturally. As he took the first few steps and put the edge of the underpass between them he felt a little relief. If that fucker' had a gun he'd a' just blasted Dirt and gone home, and now that he knew it was a footrace he felt pretty confident he could get away.  Just as he'd completed the thought an impact on the back of his head shook his vision. However, instead of transforming into dull pain as punches generally do, the shake turned into motion. His body was unbalanced, and didn't know how to compensate for the sudden forward momentum of his head. He simultaneously experienced the brief glimpse of dingy boots landing directly in front of his face, the feeling of his chin impacting the sidewalk, and a sharp spike of shock and pain blasting through his skull.

He tried to push against the ground to gain his feet back but another slam of his face on the concrete turned everything white, and his arms all fucked and rubbery. Again and again he'd see boots and it would immediately be followed by a sudden whiteness. After a couple of seconds he was aware of nausea and the desperate, mortal need to escape.

Something broke in his head and he felt it come slack in ways it shouldn't. As his vision tilted nauseatingly he caught sight of the mans scarf falling away revealing the monster that hid beneath it. Pain and blackness rushed in as vomit rushed out of his mouth and nose, bringing its own suffocating burn with it. In the last moments before everything was wiped away by the blackness. He felt fingers pushing into his loosened eye sockets and lifting away at a part of his head he didn't know just came right off like that.

Whisper shuttered. He hated the feeling of dying, but he was used to it. mostly. he chewed slowly, savoring his meal. As he ate he wondered why it was that the mind of a panicked person was so inaccurate. he didn't look like that at all. Either way; he knew where David Castleton lived now. Or Big Davey, he supposed. He swallowed the last pieces of what had once been Dirt's brain and jumped several feet to land on top of the overpass. He walked into the traffic sliding between the cars as they barreled towards him. He flowed with an uncanny quickness, more like a liquid than a man dodging the oncoming vehicles. He began to sprint and relaxed, allowing his body to automatically move and drip between the deadly machines until he reached the spot he had parked his motorcycle; on the shoulder of the highway directly above where Dirt once stood. Without slowing he flung himself into the seat and sped off, leaving someone else to find what was left of Dirt.