With a lurch the bus started along its plodding path through the city. His city. The city of his youth, prime, and eventual grave. The city that he and his generation had built, cared for, and protected. The city that had forsaken him in his old age and quietly brushed him into the shadows. The city that had now sunk into urban decay and gang violence; into a have for petty thievery and prostitution. This was his city.
The bus slowed to a stop and a young couple stepped into the aisle. Piercings and tattoos with pink and dark red spiked hair. They were the problem with everything. The city’s cancer that slowly ate away at the very fabric of civilized society. They feared nothing and believed that they were entitled to everything. These parasites truly believed that it was their god given right to do whatever they pleased. And if the authorities stepped out of line mommy and daddy would make sure to get their precious flowers out of trouble. Pampered apathetic misanthropes, he thought as he looked to the window in disgust.
The sky wept for his city, and he couldn’t blame it. The rain attempted to wash away the filth that permeated every vein the city possessed. All the sex and blood and drugs. It tried to drown the vermin that plagued the just. But the sins of the city were great and they could never be truly cleaned from its tainted soul.
Another stop. Another passenger. His weary eyes begrudgingly wandered to the front of the bus to find an elderly woman unable to find a seat. None moved to offer her theirs as she swayed frailly as the bus jerked forward once more. Honor-less, self-centered cretins. So preoccupied with themselves that they would refuse to inconvenience themselves for a few minutes to help another.
He wondered if perhaps the old woman felt the same as he did. Did she look at the state of things with the same scorn? Did the fall of the city’s moral core break her heart as it did his own? Did this cesspool of humanity’s darkest desires enrage her as it consumed him? Did she feel the same hopelessness and futility as he?
He needed off the bus. His chest tightened and his heart rated quickened and he signaled for the next stop. As the bus slowed he pushed through the aisle. Once the door opened he vaulted out into the dreary drizzling dawn; thick with the smell of urine.
Drenched and despondent the man drudged up the will to move on. Looking at his hands caused a twinge of pain. Gone were the powerful tools that had helped make the city great; they had been replaced with these withered, frail, and wrinkled worthless things. And he knew the rest of him was no better. Time had not been kind to him, but to those of his generation it had never been. It was a hard life to live, and it had taken its toll on them all.
Lost in his self pity he didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t notice the hushed whispers. Nor did he hear the rustle of fabric as the gun was raised. But he heard the tell-tale click of a gun being primed.
He turned to see the young couple from the bus, the man pointing an old revolver at him, “Gimme your wallet, old man.”
Has it really come to this? Has my city fallen so far that the young rob the elderly in broad day light. Where has justice and common decency fled? Am I the only one who still believes in good?
“What are you? Deaf? I said give me your wallet!”
The city that he had given his life to; that he had given everything to; that had turned its back on him when it felt he was no longer young enough to serve. Now it came to take the only thing that he had left, and he would not let it succeed.
“No,” his voice deep and strong resonated throughout the street. He took a purposeful step towards the young man.
“Don’t take another fucking step, old man. Just give me your damn wallet and no one gets hurt.”
“No,” his voice boomed, “I think we are a little passed that point.” Another strong step, then another. The gap between them was quickly disappearing. The young thug’s arm was shaking slightly. Good.
He stopped within a few feet from the gun. “Who do you think you are?” The thug’s voice was cracking, “Some kind of super hero?”
“Yeah, I am.” His movements were a blur, like they had been all those years ago. He felt the barrel of the gun in his hand and smiled as he easily bent the steel upwards. With a quick twist he heard a satisfying snap as the thug’s index finger broke. He relished the look of terror in the criminal’s eyes. Oh how he had missed that look.
The thug tried to run, tried to get away. He didn’t let him. Grabbing the thug by his throat the man threw him into the closest wall. Bricks and mortar collapsed inward from the force. He looked towards the terrified accomplice before continuing on his way down the street with renewed purpose. This city, his city, may have forgotten him and his colleagues. It may not even want his aid, but it needed him. It needed to be cured. And he would tear out its cancer for as long as his old lungs and bones would allow it.
