How many times have you hears the story of the little boy who wanted to make a difference, to be a hero, a superhero no less – a way to get back at the menaces to society and feel the power of good. Who could blame them; Batman, Wonder Woman, Spiderman, The fantastic 4 and all those who fight for justice and equality, but when it comes to it? They don't have the balls to get the job done.
This story isn't the story of a curly-haired boy sitting in his room dressed in spandex pretending to be a hero, nor is it Mr Rich's son masturbating over comic books while his parents work, this story is about a young boy named Nikolai. Now, Nikolai was born and raised in a small town, his parents were the loving folk; kind and genuine to all those they met. However, even the nicest of people can turn to desperation in times of hardship. As such, his parents had to make ends meet one way or another, unfortunately this meant turning to crime. It started as a few petty runs on shopkeepers and stealing off the back of trucks. Eventually Nikolai's parents found out they were pretty good at what they were doing, and started going bigger: shops turned to banks, the back of trucks became the whole truck, and before long they caught the attention of a local crime syndicate. The head of which had taken a disliking to this constant encroaching on his territory. He had them both kidnapped, and his father shot whilst his mother watched; she was roughed up and woke up in her son's room with a few hundred sprinkled on her broken body.
Sad thing was, this was all forgotten until Nikolai's 16th birthday when a letter came through his uncles' door from his mother in the Asylum. Nikolai sank to his knees and cried softly in the porch and vowed to bleed every pint of blood from the body of this man, and leave the husk ablaze on the steps of justice.
Hence we find our hero at Vicious Sid's Gym, laying into a heavy bag with unbridled fury;
"Hey, hey! Nik, would you stop? C'man it's near closing time" an elderly voice echoed. The tall, white walls of the near-derelict boxing gym showed its age; the gym had been built in the golden era of boxing, when fighters were treated like celebrities and even the pluckiest rookie could make a break. The peeling lead-paint looked rather similar to the skin of its owner.
"Oh sorry Sid, I was just err, well you know" I trailed off mid-sentence.
"Yeah, I know. You need to calm it down some though, your wrists can't take that kind of punishment every day, and you seem awful angry all the time" he wandered out toward the door getting quieter as he did so. I grabbed my duffle bag and ran after him, slipping through the door as he closed and locked it tight.
"See you tomorrow Sid" I shouted as he walked off solemnly, he waved back limply and carried on walking, pulling the collar of his green overcoat close up against his neck and disappearing into the slowly-deepening darkness of twilight.
As I made my walk home the cold air burnt and probed at the bare sides of my head as it tended to do, I pulled the shoulders of my leather jacket up against me and crossed my arms in defiance against the cold. My shoes were full of holes and kept my feet in a state of near-pneumonia, still I kept walking the few blocks to my uncles house now aware someone was behind me, as is typical for anyone who dresses differently you tend to get people trying to prove themselves by taking down 'the big punk'.
"Oi, freak" an unintelligent-sounding voice came piping from in front of me, and out from the shadows came a large boy with wrinkled, ugly features and greasy, brown hair.
"phones, wallet, whatever's in your pocket"
"Fuck you" I grunted and pushed past him.
"What did you say? Do you want to get cut?" The other boy said, he was taller but still a little plump.
"I said: Fuck. You." Slower with more emphasis, whilst pushing past the smaller, fat one again.
"Oh, that is the wrong answer, freak" the larger one stepped closer, now standing close at my back.
"I see" I dropped my bag and struck the smaller one square in the face, hard. The taller one went to grab my arms; I grabbed his upper arm instead and dropped my body down low, pulling him over my back and onto the floor facing up at me. The smaller one had recovered now and ran toward me. At the last second I pulled to the right and he ran straight into the post behind me, knocking himself out in the process. The small, glinting blade lay on the floor next to me; it was a simple, silver cutthroat razor. Calmly I picked the little knife up and pocketed it, before grabbing my bag and walking the rest of the way home to the sound of the taller one groaning on the floor.