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- June 15th 12:32 a.m. -

I found myself on 6th street after finally getting tired enough to want to head back home and sleep. My vision was a little fuzzy and my hearing had dulled a bit, but I knew I would make it back, I was only about ten blocks away from my warm and comfortable bed. I made it about two blocks when I felt the need to sit down and just take a break, my knees were weak enough, suddenly my "on top of the world" teenage ego tumbled to almost zero. I told myself to soldier on, where did my eighteen year old stamina go to, I wasn't this pathetic, was I?

A noise on my right prompted me to look that way and I saw an older man with a trench-coat limping towards me. I thought nothing of it, our town had several homeless folks that wonder aimlessly throughout the streets at night. I have encountered them countless times and they never do much more than rattle their tin cups, speechlessly asking for change, anything to help them get by which usually meant they would buy booze. Even with my previous ties to the homeless here something about this man didn't seem right at all. My thoughts were soon justified when this estranged man pulled out a knife and started making his way toward me in a rushed manor. By the time my brain made its final instinctual choices he was no more then a few feet from me and with one short moan he made a lunge at me with his cutting apparatus which made short work of the skin on my right forearm. With the adrenaline running through my body I barely felt a thing, but instantaneously felt the blood rushing from the gash. I made a bold choice to stand and at least give him the idea that I should not be messed with, remember my ego at nearly zero, well nearly wasn't close enough for me to jump and run away.

I swung wildly with my undamaged arm and made contact with the left side of my attackers face, which with his beard, seemed oddly soft. I took no solace in the fact that he tumbled to the ground with a grunt and a thud. I quickly jumped on top of the man who made my right arm his personal cutting board and continued to throw hay-makers like I was a professional boxer taking my job way beyond the rules. Knuckles made contact with his soft jaw over and over again, I could feel his flesh and muscle become loose a soft under my fists. Blood ran from his mouth and nose like a river, but that wasn't enough for my ego, nor my brain to say "STOP!"

Thirty seconds more of my bombardment and my arms became weak and no more useful then his mouth would have been at this point. He was still breathing and obviously still conscious as he noticed I had stopped and he began to yell for help. He was able to push me off of him and started to claw his way down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of myself. My mind was ruthlessly aware of the abundance of adrenaline and added power running through my body, it told me that if anyone hears him or sees what is going on I could be looking at jail time and therefore I would miss my very important date that night. I made a split second decision to pick up the homeless mans blade, which still had slivers of my own blood across it. I walked towards the crawling man, reaching down to grab one of his feet to stop his almost feeble attempt at escape. Without a thought I took the knife and brought it swiftly down into the mans chest, no big blood splatter or loud final scream for life, he simply looked at me, with his eyes asking the question "why?" and then took one last gasp of air and died.
There I sat. Sweating, heart beating uncontrollably, hands covered in blood, and my mind repeating the question to myself.

"Why?"

"Why did I go this far? What came over me?"

Then it all stopped, my breathing became steady and my thoughts cleared. I stood up and began the walk home once again. I never looked back to see what I had done again, I just walked straight and looked at the knife, which seemed like it was glued to my hand.
I reached my house and sat on the first of four steps that lead to my door, I put the knife in my pocket and rested my head on my crimson hands. The scene played in my head, punch by punch, over and over again like a broken record. Then I smiled, I let out a chuckle, and soon it became full blown laughter. Not only did I not regret what I had done, I would do it again if I could, only stab him more then once. No, I didn't regret my actions, in fact I came to the realization that this was part of me, my rage, the thoughtlessness was me. I would never say I was sorry for what I had done. If asked I would say "I liked it, it was fulfilling, it got rid of all my problems." In the end thats all I can think of.

I liked it...