Exit the Warrior

[emissary]

He stands, a man, worn and seasoned. His thoughts are of faces now gone. The soft crash of the waves bellows behind him. A group of eight brothers surround him but he's never felt more alone. They see the electricity is no longer in his eyes and he knows they see it. There is no choice. There are no words. He walks off the boardwalk and will never return. What he was can be felt whenever they speak his name, Swan.

Sleepless, his mind racing. He's exhausted yet finds no rest. It's quiet, too quiet, no ocean, no distant crowd backed with carnival music. There is nothing. Dead air with a dry smell. He misses the beach and what is familiar. Ten. Ten people he could have robbed today. Gold and cash for a month. But he didn't. It's not his way anymore. It never was. It's ironic that the thought giving him comfort is of an old headache. Long gone.

It's been five years since a bullet flew past his head. He steps toward his new rush. It's fast. Everyday is a fight with death. A helmet is buckled and gloves fastened. He feels pride as he gets on. He turns his key and a gunshot blasts his mind. It happens everytime. The engine hums as a smile grows, the only one for the day. His hands grip the handlebar and the 1200 cc Ninja he's on feels like magic. He's young again.

A regular person. That's what he wants to be. Work and home, work and home. He's good at what he does. He races his demons at 135 mph everyday and feels decent. But not today. Ten. Ten feet seperate him and his two wheels of electricity when he sees the look. The look. The look that he's seen before. 10 years ago and 200 miles away but it's the same look. A face that knows hunger. A face that's been wounded. Eyes of a lion ready to strike. Intstinct. Get away. There are 6 of them.

He can't run. They would catch him. Damn his age. Five feet. No weapons. 2 feet. Pull it. Pull it. In a breath his knife is drawn from his boot. In three twirling swipes he's put three on the ground maybe for good but at least for now. A fist catches his ear and jaw like a wrecking ball. Down. He's down. Three close in. The knee. With all he has a boot cracks a brittle knee in front of him Two left. He feels the kicks on his back and arm. He grabs but can't hold on. He feels numb and tastes blood.

Blackness. Blinding blackness. Pain. All over he hurts. Breathing. I'm alive. From the darkness, a voice he knows. "Is that you?" He knows that voice. He's dreaming. He must be. Dark gray blurs and shadows all around. He's moving, being carried. "Is that you?" That voice. Its familiar and soothing. He's not sure because its been a long time. Then he hears it . Now he knows. It was the word he most feared. "Swan"

Breezy. It is very breezy and cold. The smell in the air is sweet and sour. He knows the place he sees outside. But where is he. Who said his name? How did he survive the beating from the two thugs? Where is his bike? With the turn of a key, his door opens. He hears her voice and feels glad that he does. She speaks, "I saw you that night. I had seen you for a week and wanted to go right to you but I was scared. Then I saw those kids. Three of them are dead. One has a broken leg. And the two that almost killed you, really run when a gun is pointed at them." "I have something to show you Swan." The End

[Cowboy79]

That's good real good Is that it? If it isn't hope your write more soon if it's make another story please?

[CleonWarlord]

Very,Very well written. you are very tallented,keep it up

[ajax1234]

GREAT WRITING LOVE TO SEE MORE

[cowboy rules]

"The End" NOOOOOOOO Please! Write more , I'm dying to hear what happens. My God it's brilliant! Well done and please write more

[Razor]

Ah man, The End? I want to know what happens next!

[emissary]

I am writing the second installment of this story.  Thanks for the kind words. 

[Sleeping Dragon]

good bro.I like the story.

[pickles]

Awesome! It's a very good read. You've got talent!

[Sleeping Dragon]

amen to that!!*Holds fist out for a pound.*