Beyond recognition

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Flash Fiction Fun
This is the last time that he'll ever bounce a basketball...

Submitted: May 27, 2019

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Submitted: May 27, 2019

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Beyond Recognition

By Storm Howard

There he is, bouncing his stupid basketball.

His brown hair sways around as he bounces and shuffles. The ball rhythmically bouncing against the cracked asphalt.
He shoots.
He scores.
He always scores. Not once in his life has he missed, always getting what he wants. His whole life is a dream.

And every dream has an end.

The mere sight of him makes my blood boil. I try to reason with myself but the rapid pounding of my heart drowns out my own thoughts as it tries to break free. Against my own will, my hands clench up into a ball, straining my knuckles white.

A loud crack sounds somewhere in the sky; I look up.
Rain.
Grey clouds loom in the distance, threatening an oncoming storm.

My feet thud along the overgrown court, the figure in the distance grows closer and closer. He still hasn’t noticed me, too focused on honing his already perfect skills.

I stop a short distance away, waiting for him to notice me.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Shoot.
Miss.

The ball bounces off the ring, shooting past me and rolling onto the empty night road. He turns to retrieve it, but stops short and looks me up and down. Scrutinising me, judging me, dismissing me.

He walks by me, his shoulder brushing mine. Brushing me off.
My jaw tightens. My eye narrow. My arm swings.

The thump of my fist smashing into his head echoes around the dirty, city streets. Adrenaline pumping through my veins.
“What the fu—“
I hit again, and again. Harder, and harder. He tries to fight back but it’s no use, I’ve got the advantage.

I let out my anger, pounding him to the point of blood, but I don’t stop.

My bloody knuckles connect with his face, smashing his nose up completely, bruising his lips, blackening his eyes. He lets out a wet, gurgling scream. Drowning in his own blood.

He’s crying, coughing up blood, begging for mercy. But I give him none, he doesn’t deserve it.
He doesn’t deserve this.

I break his face, destroy his morale, shatter his bones, I keep going until he can’t defend himself, until he is crying, until he can’t cry.
Until he is nothing.
Nothing but an unrecognizable body.

I get up and look at my hands.
Dirty. Bloody. Guilty.
Satisfied.

I step away from his corpse, my shoes splash in a puddle of blood forming around him. Soft drops of rain turn into a heavy assault of hail. Thunder sounds out all around me.

I spin round and head for the exit, leaving behind a red trail as the rain washes the blood off of my arms.
Not my clothes though, those will need to be discarded.

Again.


© Copyright 2019 Stevie McBobby. All rights reserved.

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