I'm spitting blood now.

It's streaming down my chin, dripping in splatters at my feet. Blood on snow isn't as red as you'd think. It's more brownish, almost muddy. I'm surprised the stuff doesn't freeze before it hits the ground, leaving little amethyst beads on the drifts. That would be pretty. But nothing about blood is pretty.

There's a windbreaker in my hands. It's too new to get the blood on, my mom might say. Lurching down Sander Street in December, one notices irony more vividly than usual. My breath hangs on the air and curls like cigarette smoke. My hands are shaking.

My mouth... I'm trying hard not to smile. I don't want passerbys to see my ripped jaws. I don't want them to see my dripping teeth, fiery red, like those of some solstice demon. I don't want to be seen for what I was.

-------''-------

It was late November when I met him. There, at the abandoned Hess station, staring me straight in the eye. His name was Cerilla, and he was enormous. Not just "tall" or "stocky" in the embellished sort of way, but bonafide enormous. You could see the veins on his biceps from twenty feet away. Footsteps like an elephant, eyes like a cobra.

I wiped my mouth.

"Go for him!" they yelled, roaring behind their smudged faces. They surrounded us, a radial siamese brotherhood, united in anticipation. The abandoned Hess station had turned into a colosseum of flesh. Fourteen-year-old gladiators, powdering their hands with sand.

Cerilla spat on the ground. "This place good enough for you?"

I wiped my mouth again. "Shut up and get ready, asshole." Blood was running hot through my veins. Shivers were there too. Shivers of anger and fear. Shivers of excitement. I'd found out while smoking behind the bleachers at a pep rally. What he said. That bastard.

"You calling me an asshole?"

"Yeah. I am."

The crowd trembled and pressed closer. The cool November air was humid in body heat. Their eyes enclosed us, pushed us forward, stinging like cattle prod. "I'll let you get the first punch, asshole."

Cerilla bared his teeth and drew up like a mestizo peacock. His abs, his arms, the neckline blew up like balloons. His muscle shirt frayed. I wondered if he could see me tremble.

"Are you going to come, or just whine for another hour?"

"You called me out, bastard! Why don't you come first?" he snarled. For a moment, I thought I saw a tinge of doubt in the folds of muscles. "Are you too pussy to come at my face?"

"I don't attack women," I said cautiously.

"Then we have nothing to do here. But don't think I'll put up with--"

The crowd suddenly darkened. I heard catcalls rumbling around us. They disapproved. They disapproved. Why did they come here? To see a compromise? Diplomacy? No, they came to see a fight.

Someone shoved me forward, straight into Cerilla. I stumbled into his arms.

"... your shi- Hey! Watch out you clumsy fuck!" His face was three inches above mine. I could see the snot hanging from the caverns of his nose. "Are you trying to start shit again? What the hell is your problem?"

He grabbed my windbreaker jacket, and the crowd swooned. No one breathed. I conceded to fate: "Fuck you, Cerilla."

They roared as he threw me back into them, then bounced me back like a pinball. Relief washed over me. This was a show fight. I could see it in his eyes. "Well then," I tensed, slightly playful. "Let's settle this."

The crowd babbled enthusiastically as we slugged each other with soft hits. We danced in wide strokes, like professional wrestlers, exaggerating our staggers and our blows. We allowed one another excesses of style: arm twists and head locks and backward rolls and flourish punches. Style that, in real fights, was never there.

But neither of us wanted to be seen falling. So we kept slugging each other.

"Man this is slow. What's up?" "Don't worry, it always starts like this." "Just wait, it's coming. Awesome!"

My muscles were setting into a cool ache, and sweat burned the corners of my eyes. I was getting slower to block. Cerilla wouldn't fall. I wouldn't fall. We refused to be seen as weak.

That's when I slipped.

The punch landed on Cerilla's face like a brick. The nose crunched, and wet gush exploded on my fist. He careened back with his hands over his eyes. A wave of ooooooooohhhhs washed over the silence.

It was a mistake.

My lips were frozen. My feet were frozen. My hands were frozen.

That's why I didn't move out of the way.

Cerilla slammed into my solar plexus, and air gushed out of my lungs. A second later I was on the tarmac gasping for air. Oh shit, I kept thinking. Oh shit. It was to the escalating screams of the crowd that I staggered to my feet.

"Man, they're getting serious now."

And we were. I launched toward Cerilla with teeth bared and slashed as his face. More blood. Round house punches beat at my shoulder. A mistake. Too close for that. I jabbed at his stomach and danced back.

They were cheering now. Cerilla charged recklessly at me, bull-like. I stepped aside at the last moment and let him crash into spectators. Cacaphony. "Fucker fucker fucker fucker MOtherFUCKER!!" He charged.

His shoulder clipped me. I lost my balance and stumbled back. Cerilla fell upon me with relentless momentum, peppering my torso with heavy blows. I might have lost then and there, but he hit me in the groin. I think the piss distracted him. I pummeled him in the jaw. Hard. Blood squirted from his lips and his teeth flew.

"Dfie ypou swonovabfitzch!" Cerilla spat into my eye, blinding me. My knee fell from under me.

From then on, I was on the defense. Cerilla pushed forward with such terrible inertia that I didn't have time to wipe my eyes. My blocks barely cushioned the punches. My ears. My arms. My back. My testicles. Everything was fair game. At one point he latched his teeth on my shoulders and clamped down.

That's when a panic seized me.

He was a psychopath. His face was warped, misshapen, and his eyes were lit in a demonic light. Blood was everywhere. I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die.

And the crowd cheered.

I grabbed out and a found brick. "Stay back! Stay back!" My voice cracked as I waved it blindly in front of me.

"Only pussies fight with rocks, pussy," snarled Cerilla. "Take me on like a man. Follow the rules, pussy."

He charged at me.

The brick
His head
Fear
Blood everywhere.
I swing.

I was straddled over Cerilla and pounding him with the brick. His hands. His knees. His mouth. His testicles. Everything was fair game. I hit him again and again and again. Behind me, the crowd was silent.

He let out an inhuman croon, and shuddered still. His limbs lay bent back and broken. I saw tracks of tears cutting through the blood of his ruddy cheeks.

Goliath had fallen.

The crowd burst out into wild cheers. "You did it, man!" "You beat Cerilla!" They bustled around me, patting me on the back, extolling me for my plucky triumph. "You sure laid it down on that motherfucker!" "So goddamn cool!" "Let's see anyone go for you now!"

Someone took my arm and we walked away. We left Cerilla there as he cried. I let the brick fall out from my grip and clatter to the ground.

-------''-------

It was Thanksgiving. They were passing the cranberry sauce around. I was wearing a collared shirt. I was miserable. I retreated to the bathroom.

My father glared at me. "We're eating."

"I forgot to wash my hands," I said apologetically.

It was a lie. In fact, I'd washed them eight times today. The grime under them... the filth wouldn't go away. It frightened me how dirty I was, even after I cut my fingernails and washed. Even after I showered three times a day. Even after I brushed and flossed and combed my hair and misted myself with deoderant in the morning, at noon at night.

I was filthy.

In the bathroom I washed until my hands were red. The steam from the sink billowed in my face, cigarete-like. I swabbed my ears and shaved. I lathered my face with a topical solutions, and looked in the mirror.

My face transformed. The eyebrows fells and the cheeks blew up, and the nose swelled, grotesque. Black and yellow humors poured down out my eyes; snot crept down from my nostrils.

I left the bathroom as quickly as I could.

Squash was slapping down on my plate. Cheese broccoli casserole. Potato bread. And on top, a slab of dark turkey, barely cooked. The food mounted up and I listened to my family masticate.

"Why aren't you eating, son?"

"Just not hungry." My stomach was roiling. In the mirror...

"What's the matter with you?" my uncle asked, snorting while shoveling mashed potatoes in his mouth. "Rude, to just sit there. Didn't you just get in trouble at school for rudeness?"

"No," my mother said. "a fight. Just a minor scuffle."

My uncle snorted. "That's the problem with youth today. All indifferent, rude delinquents. Getting out of line. All you brats would do well in the army; that's where they teach you respect. Do you want to join the army, kid?"

I gulped and stared down at my plate. "Not really."

"Not really! Who do you think defends your snot-nosed freedoms? I'll tell you, youth today could learn from living in the trenches. That's what heroism is, fighting for you country. Don't you want to fight for your country, kid?"

I gulped and stared down at my plate. "Not really."

My uncle slammed his fork on the table. "I bet you'd say that! Well listen for a thing or too..."

My mother shot in. "Let's keep this civil, shall w--"

"I'm not done talking! Let's see this brat live in a country overrun by nazis or commies or the al-qaeda. That's when he'd would fight, because he's selfish! Never fights for a good cause! Just wants to dick around with video games and pot and animated porn garbage!"

I blushed a little. My uncle took out a pack of cigarettes and a zippo lighter. The smoke washed over me as he spoke.

"Freedom isn't free, kid. Freedom isn't free. Nothing in life is free, and if you lived in the real world you would understand that.

"We old folks. We fought tooth and nail for our dignity. And we won! Can you imagine how terrible life would be in America if no one ever joined the army? Ever fought for a good cause? You can only win if you're willing to fight for it."

Tears stung my eyes. "Join the army, boy."

I left the table.

-------''-------

Somehow I found myself at Saints Memorial Hospital with a pack of twizzlers and a Hallmark card. It was funny, I thought. On the cover it showed a man looting someone's window. Inside it said: "Get well soon: I wish I could take your pane." and then my signature.

Just fucking hilarious.

The light climbed up the spine of the elevator. One, two, three, four, five, six. The doors wooshed open and I stepped out.

It was dismal, quiet place. Plain linoleum floors and individual cells. Windows. I found my way to 8a-16, bracing myself. Cerilla. What would you say to me?

The nurse made a face. "I'm afraid he's asleep right now. Are you sure you want to visit?"

"Y-yeah," I stuttered, and walked in. The hospital bed was concealed by plastic curtains, which I thoughtlessly pulled back. I put on my best smile.

Cerilla had bandages and casts all over his body. Both of his legs were suspended above the bed. There was an IV unit pumping into his shoulder, next to a package of Attends and a bloody sink.

It didn't register for a moment. Cerilla... he looked so small...

"Are you related to him?" the nurse asked, waving her clipboard like a police badge.

"Uh, y-yeah," I said, "his brother."

The nurse squinted, but then shrugged it off. People cheated. "This has been a tough case, I must say. Cerilla [she pronounced it with a hard L] has been terribly depressed the last few days. The MRI results just got back with a few lateral X-rays. He's been difficult."

"Y-yeah," I said. "U-um, what did the scans say?"

The nurse's eyebrows perked up. "They didn't tell you?"

"Well... I've b-been, away..." I shuddered.

"Perhaps you should speak with... ah hell," The nurse glanced at the clock. "Someone's bound to tell you. Let's get this over with."

She told me.

I stood there for a minute after she went back to her shift, and listened to the bed machine hum. The clock. Outside, clumps of late-autumn leaves were brushing against the window. Way out in the city, a tendril of smoke drifting up, painting a trail on the anemic skies.

My neck fell. I crumpled the card and threw it in the wastebasket, and had never been so ashamed in my life.

-------''-------

"You MOTHERFUCKER! Who the FUCK do you think you ARE?!" Venganza shoved my back on the locker. "What the FUCK is your PROBLEM? My brother will never WALK again because. of. YOU!"

I was too tired to look appropriately scared. I hadn't slept last night.

"Oh, just stare at me like an asshole? GREAT WORK, you FUCKing penDEjo!" Vengana spat in my face. "Think you can fuck with just anyone? Well TIME TO LEARN FUCKHEAD! I'm Cerilla's hermano! I'm going to kill you, motherfucker!"

My mouth opened. "I'm sorry."

"FUCK YOU!" Venganza screamed, storming away. "Behind the Hess station. TOMORROW you FUCKER!!" I slumped against the locker and stared at my hands. Smoke... where had the smoke come from?

The people around me started to get excited.
--------''-------

Snow was falling softly when the fight kicked off. The crowd pressed around, a number of them smoking, chatting exhilaratedly. "I can't believe it, man! This is like... like the Cerilla fight all over again!" "No way that Venganza will win. Our boy's a killer, yo." "Through and through."

Smoke billowed out of Venganza's nostrils. He had a cigarette cocked in his mouth and was puffing furiously. It didn't seem to calm him at all. "You have thirty seconds to get down on your knees and beg. Either that, or I rip your fucking face off."

I looked away. "We don't have to do this, you know."

"Fuck you, pussy. Very brave of you to say that AFTER you cripple my fucking hermano. Get down."

My lips moved on their own. "I'm not a pussy, you shitbag."

"We'll see about that," he said.

And it started. Venganza came at me like a wasp, lunging at me in fleeting strokes. SLAM! It hit my cheek, setting my head off like an alarm clock. It was ringing.

I fell back and blocked and parried and looked for opening. Just get this over with, I thought, and I would never have to deal with this shit again.

But I couldn't put a finger on him. Every time I thought I gained the upper hand, he was suddenly behind me, slamming his shin into my back. I coughed a little blood.

"Already bleeding, pendejo? Guess you're not such tough shit, huh?"

Anger. I stomped on his foot. He yelled and clawed at my face. I blocked, fell back, and countered. It was a clumsy tango with blood. And I was suddenly dancing better than he. I snarled and moved to land my fist on his nose.

Venganza's face changed.

In the second I hesitated, Venganza fell on me, swiping my face and kicking at my feet. He landed one straight in my balls and sent me to the floor. I coughed more blood on the snow. Cold water soaked my teeshirt.

"That it, fuckhead?" taunted Venganza, prodding me with his sneakers. "This was the guy who took Cerilla, huh? Must have been lucky. Pussy."

Pride inflamed me. My muscles burned anew, and I reached out. A brick was in my hand. I stood in a slow anger and held the brick behind my head.

Time. It repeats. The brick.

"Pussy, is it?" I said, and the crowd let out a gasp of anticipation.

Venganza stumbled back. "Fucking coward!" he yelled. "There's rules to fighting, you know! Guys, help me out with this motherfucking coward!"

The crowd didn't move.

I smiled weakly. "Idiot. There are no rules to fighting. If you think you can enter this arena without playing with death, you need a fucking head check. There's nothing honorable about fighting. It's simply two people, dancing around, trying to kill each other. And that's why..." My hand tightened on the brick, and I gazed into Venganza's eyes.

"That's why... I..."

The brick fell from my hand.

Then I was in the snow. The kicks fell on me, one after another, battering me. My blood was everywhere. Venganza stamped on my head, my arms, my groin. He clawed at me. He bludgeoned me with the brick while I lay in a fetal position. I couldn't move. I took it all.

"Just as I thought," Venganza said, smiling. "Another fucking pussy."

The crowd burst out in wild cheers. They took Venganza by the arm and walked away. I lay on the ground, bleeding everywhere, looking up at the fading sunlight.

A friend from school, Ash, hadn't left. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and he was smoking angrily. I crawled to my feet and looked into his eyes.

"That," he said, teeth grinding. "was a fucking slaughter. That asshole beat you. No, not just beat you. Beat you until there was nothing left in you. Where's the honor in that, I say? Where the honor in that?"

"There is none," I said "and I don't want any."

The snow was getting thicker. "Don't worry though," Ash told me, smoldering. "I'll get that Venganza bastard. I'll fight him, and when he's on the ground I'll show him what it's like. I'll throttle that shithead."

I smiled. "Ash," I whispered. "Don't."

"Why the fuck not? He deserves it."

"If you're going to fight, don't do it in my name."

Ash stared at me, incredulous. It was as if I'd just spoke in Japanese. The comprehension dawned slowly. He snubbed his cigarette in the snow and glared at me. His nostrils flared. "You aren't worth fighting for."

"No," I said quietly "I'm not."

Then I stood alone at the Hess station and gathered my teeth. Blood was streaming down my chin. I spit it out and smiled.

Windbreaker in hand, I'm walking down Sander street on the darkest day of the year. My fingers are numb. I have lost many friends, today. I haven't gained a single one. My parents hate me. I'm a delinquent without any respect for authority, for tradition. I'm going nowhere in life, because I don't fight for anything. I'm guilty of crimes heavier than the world itself. And yet here I am. Smiling like a fool.

For the first time since Cerilla, I'm smiling.

I walk down Sander's street, and see coated men stringing lights on their bushes. I hear carols playing in houses. Children, building snow forts around the driveway, stare at me as I pass. I smile at them. Snow has coated the filthy autumn earth in a pure white blanket. The fire and smoke are gone. The cold air has cleansed the world.

As I see a women hanging a wreath on her front door, I realize it suddenly. Something I haven't noticed, that I should have noticed much sooner. I look up at the night sky.

It's Christmas.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...