Spatter

A relatively short story about a man getting mugged.

Flattery can go a long way in this world. The occasional well placed comment can earn for it's wielder the steps to otherwise unreachable places in the social world. Flattery however; can often fall short of its intended purpose. Much more importantly, for Simon White, flattery no longer held the power to stop the force of a clenched meaty fist as it shattered the bridge of his septum with an unceremonious crunch. 

The resulting torrent of blood spattered the concrete-paved floor with a steady flow of glimmering ruddy breadcrumbs. Simon reeled backwards, and the trail of blood on the floor slurred into a nauseating kaleidoscope of afternoon sun and fermenting garbage mixed with the cocktail of his own bodily fluids. The bile rose in his stomach- just in time for another hit to knock the wind out of his lungs. Coughing, he did the one thing that came second best to fleeing. Simon fell, and curled up into the smallest form that he possibly could while whimpering like a beaten child as the kicks reverberated dully off of his partially guarded ribcage. 

He had no wife, but he thought of his girlfriend. She was shrewd at times, but he had loved her. The two of them would dance naked on the roof of their cheap apartment at night and take turns whistling at the neighbors. No one ever saw them anyway. If anyone did, they had probably just kept watching. 

He thought of his cubicle at the small advertising company where he worked, and the knick-knack painted lucky cats he had passively collected from his blunderings through Chinatown. Between the daily stacks of paperwork, he would always find the time to arrange them in the space that his desk allowed.  After only a year of employment, the task had almost become an act of reverence. With him gone, they would only return home to collect dust. Better yet, his girlfriend would probably just throw the dreaded things out.

Eventually, in response to his silence- the kicking stopped. Simon had hardly noticed. He foggily remembered some adventure he had been sent on that day, buying a slice of cake perhaps, or some cigarettes. Someone had to have heard the commotion. The precinct was only a few city blocks away.  As he slipped into unconsciousness, he couldn't help but consider that most people in that s**t-hole of a neighborhood would hardly even turn his way. Either way, Simon had to admit; it would be the best sleep he'd had in days.

Author's Note

Written in a short burst of boredom. Honest critiques are very much welcome. I'm new to this website and don't really write often, but I'm always eager to improve. Thanks.

Reviews

[Legion]

Okay, two peeves first. One, change the format. Having to scroll way to the right to read each line is very annoying. Second, what "flattery" failed him? There is no mention of it (unless somehow I missed it having to scroll to the right so much).

Those two things aside, the piece is relatively good for a brief description in the moments of a mugging. Very descriptive. I especially liked the way you ended it. The much needed rest. Feel that way often. Kudos to you.

[Kita Tataki (Emily Conn..]

I really liked how you took all of these ordinary experiences that anyone might have, and manage to make a very captivating short story out of it!! It seems like you really got into the story and made the character come alive for the reader. You also have a GREAT way with words, especially when it comes to describing sensation... like the "nauseating kaleidoscope of afternoon sun and fermenting garbage mixed with the cocktail of his own bodily fluids." or the "clenched meaty fist as it shattered the bridge of his septum with an unceremonious crunch." This was a really great short story, thanks for posting it!!