Tales from the Town of Salem
#1: All I Have Left
A cool breeze swept through the nearly empty house. The sound of the echoed gunshot had long been forgotten amongst the closed in walls of the small home, where the victim still lay on the cold tiles of his kitchen. His eyes were wide spread with shock and confusion, his arms heavily outstretched amongst the floor. Suddenly, the man blinked, and drew an uninterested expression upon his face. He looked up from his resting place, seeing that the assailaint had long since left. Satisfied, he rolled over and pushed himself up, his stomach burning from the impact of the bullet. With a deep breath he walked out of the kitchen, and moved to his bathroom with the full body mirror. His brown haired, blue eyed, middle aged face stared back at him as he lifted away his jacket, observing the bulletproof vest underneath. He groaned with annoyment at the result of the bullet.
"Great... Another one ruined..." He muttered to himself. The vest was completely ripped apart, and the Survivor could even see the bullet still in the lower half of the vest. It would be useless from here on out. Two vests were now ruined, that meant he only had half of them left. With a sigh and shake of his head, he tossed away the vest and placed his jacket back over his torso, and colsed the door to his bathroom. While his house certainly wasn't the most luxurious of things, it was fine in what the Survivor considered it's only useful role: a comfortable and warm place to sleep. With only one floor, and no real entertainment options save for a few motivational books one of the town Doctors had told him to read, there really was nothing else he could do there, save for cook what others would consider a pitiful excuse of a meal.
The Survivor opened the door to his bedroom, a small room with a table containing a pen and pad, lamp, and a wardrobe containg the Surviovr's few jackets, clothing, and remaining vests. In the right most corner of the room was the survivor's bed, which was something the one of the town Escorts had told him to use. According to her, it was extremly comfortable, and hleped you fall asleep more quickly. The Survior had bought it, but more for the second reason than the first. He didn't really like staying awake longer than needed, and only stayed up past the first breaking of the light if he was unbelievably hungry, which he had been tonight. It was around that time a Mafioso had showed up, with his fiendish smile and a gun. As the Surivor laid on his bed, underneath his covers, he stared at his celing as he made a mental note to himself. Head to the bar that Mafioso always visited.
...
The next morning was uneventful as far as the Survivor was concerned. Another few town members dead, and various people acting as though it was a big deal. It wasn't. Then again, with how much death the Survivor had seen during the war, perphaps he was just numb to it all. He allowed himself a small smile at that. He WAS numb to it. It was half past noon when he made his way to the frequented bar of the Mafioso. A more recent addition to the town, it was known for it's "uplifting" and, "party-like" music, with a freshly polished bar and shiny wooden tables. The Survivor helped himself to a small booth in the northern corner of the shop with a clear view of the entrance, and kept to himself until a young, pretty woman came to him in uniform, asking if he needed anything. Before he could answer, she squinted at him, then grew sad as the Survivor realized that his waitress was his niece, Tiffany.
"Uncle Mac, what are you doing here? Didn't you say you were getting off drinking?" She asked as she placed her hands on the table. The Survivor looked up at his niece and looked into her sad green eyes. The daughter of his older brother, he considered himself responsible for his demise, and never getting to see her again. Tiffany had taken care of herself very well, and she was on her way to leading a better life, being a freshman in college, and keeping a steady job at the bar for a little over a year now. She constantly tried to help the Survivor out of his near comatose state of living, but it just never worked. He sighed and looked away from his niece.
"I am. I'm just waiting for someone here." He said with a muted tone. Taking a sip of his water, Tiffany sat down and looked at him with a look of pain in her eyes.
"Uncle Mac, you need to-" She began.
"Save it Tif. I know I need to take better care of myself. Just get back to work okay? I don't want you in trouble because of a grump like me." The Survivor said in a sullen voice. Tiffany gave him a sad smile and kissed him on the cheek before getting up.
"I'm gonna drop by your house later, when I'm off work. We can talk then, okay?" She said as the Survivor looked at his menu for the first time.
"Don't we always?" He asked in a sarcastic tone. She smiled again as he placed an order for a glass of soda and a plate of nachos. She nodded and walked away. Time passed slowly until his food arrived, and even then, it wasn't much quicker. Eventually, about an hour had passed, and the Survivor had finally seen his target. A 30 something, blonde-haired, and blue eyed handsom man with an affity for joking around and drinking. He was also the Mafioso whom had attempted to kill the Survivor last night. He waited for the man to find a seat with a group of people, whom he assumed were the man's friends or coworkers. Either way, it wasn't of importance to him. He waited until the man was in high spirits from two or three glasses of beer, and made his way over to him.
Upon seeing the man, the Mafioso's wide smile lessened, but quickly regained it's normal strength as he greeted the Survivor like an old friend, and even asked the others if he could spend a minute alone with him to "play catch up". He was good, the Survivor had to admit that much. The othere members of the table gradually made their way to arcades or over to the bar to talk amongst themselves further, and the Survivor sat across from the Mafioso as a frown formed on his lips, void of the good humor that once filled them. Silence was the only thing that existed between them for a short while, until the Mafioso finally said;
"Not often I find myself talking to a dead man." The Mafioso had a voice that, on it's own, actually sounded somewhat soothing. The tone it carried now, however, was thick with an unmistakable growl. The Survivor found this somewhat interesting, but decided it was in his best interest not to comment on it.
"I'd return a sentinment along those lines, but I'm actually quite familiar with talking to people who tried to kill me." He said as the Mafioso took another sip of his drink. The younger man actually smiled and chuckled a bit at his statement.
"I would imagine you are." He said as he placed his glass down. "So I imagine you want to know why you were targeted? Or maybe some kind of threat to turn me over to the Sheriff if I don't turn myself in first?" He said as he swirled the remainder of his drink around the glass. A waitress came by with his food, and he smiled fondly at her and thanked her for her "wonderful" service, in addition to being easy on the eyes. The woman blushed and said she was merely doing her job. The Survivor wondered how many times the Mafioso had used that line, likely before spiking a poor girl's drink. The Mafioso turned his attention back to him, and held up a hand, indicating he was waiting on the Survivor's answer.
"No. On either one of those accounts." The Survivor said as the Mafioso took the first bite of his food, and nodding as he chewed on it happily.
"So what then? Come to beg to be left alone, tell me you're better off alive than dead to us? You'll support us if someone gets caught or some bolgona like that? Beg me to change my ways? I've heard that all before buddy." He said as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. The Survivor stared at the man before him with little emotion in his eyes.
"I don't care what you do. Or what you do with this town. I just want to be left out of whatever is going on. I won't say anything to anyone, so do me a favor and just leave me be." He said. The Mafioso chuckled at that, and took another bite of his food and shook his head with a smile at the Survivor.
"Expect me to believe that? You fought in the war pal. You were one of them do-gooders who was praised for being a hero. In other words, a shining light of the good guys. My business has been considered bad for a while. Why would I trust you?" He said with a venous sneer in his voice. His face was written with a smirk and a slightly raised eyebrow. The Survivor held his gaze.
"Because I am tired. I am tired of it all. Killing, wondering if I'm going to survive to the next day, worrying about some people who enjoy making people suffer. I just want to be left to myself." He said in a tired voice. The Mafioso twirled his silverware in his fingers and seemed to ponder the Survivor's words. After a few seconds, he shrugged and looked back down to his food.
"I'll tell my superiors what you said. There's no gurantee they'll listen though. So I'd reccomend still sleeping with one of your eyes open." He said with a wink and a smile. The Survivor nodded and placed a twenty on the table.
"Tell the waitress that's for a plate of nachos in that booth over there." He said motioning towards his former seat. The Mafioso chuckled and pulled the twenty away, glad the Surviovor was playing along with his ruse of him being an old friend. The Surviovr looked around for Tiffany for a moment, then saw she was busy with another table. He looked away and walked out the front door, the chilly air around him blocked out by his jacket. He flipped his hood over his head as he made his way back to his house. The Mafioso may have been somewhat skeptical he would be left alone, but the Survivor decided he would go to sleep early today. After all he had nothing else to do today. Except live for those who didn't make it home, and he could do that at home just as easily as in some club.
Come to think of it, the Surviovr realized, that was all he had to live for.