The Butcher's Coin

I have edited it a bit since I first wrote it but it's mostly intact. It's about a man reminiscing, and as he walks down the street he realizes all but two moments of his life are fading from memory.

A veil of black washed over the town as the moon’s glow fruitlessly attempted to shine through the darkness.  With coat of tan and boots of brown, a solitary man glided among the crowd as chills ran down the spines of everyone he passed. A flattened shrub of auburn hair lay atop his skull. Some stared as he disappeared amongst the bodies, wondering if he was the one chilling the air; others stumbled into each other as their eyes deceived them. He could see clearly through the black. It was not light, but rather a soulful flame raging inside him that led the way.

Calm and collected on the surface, his mind raced through blurred memories filed carefully upon tattered sheets of paper. Dozens of dusty photographs were strewn about the floor of his brain and empty picture frames hung aimlessly on the venerable walls of his subconscious. His mind began scrolling through ancient film reels of damaged memories. As he wore out the movies of his life and began to remember less and less, he noticed two memories that never faded from recollection. For him, time had stopped as if waiting for him to finish each film. He relived his two remaining memories, as they were the only thing left to cling onto.

November 10, 1979. Father lifted the drink to his worn lips and knocked back his head. Mother watched in horror, but dared not protest as father spoke to me.

“Useless little b*****d,” he muttered. “I knew I shouldn’ta let ‘er trick me inta havin’ a kid. Nothin’ but more god damn problems. You two sit on your asses all day while I work to keep this house,” he stopped to fill his lungs with air and his stomach with booze, “and the pair o’ you can’t even treat me with some respect. You two mother fu…” 

I couldn’t bear to listen to him a second longer, and began looking for ways to distract myself from his words. My head was suddenly whipped sideways and I fell to the ground in shock. A pounding headache set in as I lay sprawled out across the floor. I turned over just in time to see my father pushing mother to the floor. He kicked her hard while she lay defenseless on the unforgiving wooden planks. I shrunk into the corner as my mother screamed at him, “Stop, he’s only eight, why are you doing this!” 

I didn’t realize what was next to me or how it ended up in my hands, but the next event I could recall was my father’s 22 aimed at his shoulder blades. Even with my head still spinning from father’s fist, I never lost focus of where the barrel was pointed. Mother rose to her feet, beaten and bruised. She glanced over at me with widened eyes and watched in terror as I pulled the trigger. The ringing in my eardrums was deafening. The tape ended as mother lay reddened on the floor and father upon me, sending fist after fist at my jaw and chest.

The tan-coated, brown-booted man felt an ill feeling in his stomach, but had to continue with his film watching.

November 10, 1997. Silvia strolled down the aisle in her enchanting silky-white gown as the beautiful holy walls adorned with glorious stained glass shielded us from the outside. I lost myself in her beauty as her vibrant green eyes created a new world for me to explore. I lost myself in her wondrous head of hair, the smoothness of her skin and her illuminating smile which swept away any darkened memories I held in my heart. A picture of perfection there to pledge love to the most imperfect man. I could not put into proper words the joy she made me feel as I wandered into her angelic forest-colored eyes. She made the one day I dreaded for so long become a day I would cherish for the rest of my life.

As the last reel ended, the man was pulled back into the harsh reality of the night. Dozens of bystanders stumbled clumsily into each other as beggars sat shivering in the cold. A young girl, alarmingly pale with hair as black as the night, sat in worn clothes against a sturdy brick wall. She held out her hands even though no one bothered to look at her. The tan-coated man stopped in front of her and bent down. Enchanting, vibrant green orbs stared back at him until he broke the silence. He absentmindedly reached into his pocket and produced a single 50 cent coin.

“You remind me of someone; someone who was very important to me. Someone I lost not too long ago. I don’t have much left to give but I will do what I can.” 

“Thank you so much, mister. But why?” she asked as she sat staring at the coin he placed in her fragile hands.

By the time she lifted her head, the mysterious man had disappeared. Soon after, an ear-splitting scream broke through the crowd. A woman was in trouble, and from her ghastly noises she was in pain. The young girl quickly stood up to see what was happening, but the crowd blocked her view. A man was sprinting through the streets, pushing others out of the way as he fled from the scene. The little girl saw him rush by, and watched as the crimson-coated, brown-booted man dashed through the mass of people carrying a butcher’s knife and a blood-stained photo of a beautiful woman in a silky white gown. As his auburn hair disappeared in the crowd, the little girl reached down into her pocket and grasped the 50 cent coin. No matter how long she held it, it stayed cold in her hands.

Author's Note

Mainly just questions for the reviewers. Are there any disconnects in the flow of the story? Is it compelling? How is the vocabulary? I'm really looking for opinion on if it captures the reader.