Fatal Path

Plumes of dust and moisture radiated from the weathered path as a sudden rush of footsteps disturbed the calm; the scent of petrichor enveloping the desolated street. Today was a holiday. An annual event which saw thousands of citizens flock towards the coast, abandoning the drab inner-cities and flooding the beaches like weeds, taking any available space for themselves and rooting deep into the sand. A lack of people made room for ample opportunity. Entire buildings were painted in shades of coral and pink, which were dappled by the towering palm columns; the day had been prosperous in more than just weather. For Adam, at least.

His smirk had turned to a grin as he offloaded the fruits of his labour into the van, letting out a small laugh, then grabbing a drink and leaning against a gritty wall. This was too easy. Releasing a deep breath, the first vehicles started to round onto the street; they had returned early, which wasn’t entirely unexpected. The majority, however, would take overnight residence away from home. There was still plenty of work to do. Taking a final sip of his can, Adam headed through the backstreets of the city. Good weather hadn’t blessed these god-forsaken roads; dampness tainted the air as mould grappled at the sides of buildings, scavenging for a gap in the structure to infest and corrupt with its plague. A variety of items littered the ground, with smashed bottles glistening in the sparse daylight as he hopped over crystals of glass and metal. Ensuring to avoid the sharp litter, a pathway diverted his attention. Unlit, damp, and untrodden. Nobody had been here. 

Being opportunistic has its problems; many become blind to their treasures and return for more as if it were a drug, often trekking riskier paths in the process. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Adam would never learn to withdraw his winnings until he’d lost everything. Yet it could be worse; society here is a sickness. People are able to wind into your thoughts without a trace. Volatile. Left rooted to grow, the weakest minds are the first to succumb to this sickness, which bleeds them dry of thought and moulds them into nothing but sheep. He wouldn’t allow his family to be exploited any longer. The less contact he had with society, the better; being opportunistic, he thought, could be no worse than being a ‘doormat’. And hence why he refused to participate in the celebrations today. The organisers of these events sponge more in one day than he and his wife earn in a year. Stealing goods was originally a last resort, which proved to be a simple task. Especially with nobody there to see him. And so, he set forth on this fatal path for gold.

‘hey! it’s a victimless crime, right?’

***

The undisturbed track directed Adam to the outskirts of his homeland. The last remnants of daylight were drowned in deep shades of scarlet, dripping down the palette and making room for the impending arrival of twilight. The colour always reminded him of his wife. Ironically, she had a loathing for the tone; too many times had she seen her closest relations- himself included- bathed in the deep pigment, which had haunted her mind and stalked her dreams for years. The sight, adorned by some as a sign of passion or warmth, pricked at her memories like a thorn. Red was an overrated colour, anyway. The view, however, was a stark reminder of why this lifestyle had arisen in the first place. His family were simply all that mattered to him; the fear of being unable to provide for his wife and children terrorised him more than any sentence could.

*** 

Proceeding to ascend the rusty wire gate of the complex, Adam caught his skin and released a deep sigh of pain. White paint coated the vast building, which had been scratched and skinned away like an animal who’d lost the fight, spurting musty brown undertones beneath the flaking overlay. Concrete cooled him underfoot as he turned the corner; not knowing what he was searching for, his breathing became laboured as his dull grey eyes tracked around the barren site. His now shaky breath caught in his throat as he tightened his grip onto a brick, and aimed it through a large window. His torn knuckles turned deathly white in the process.

“This is the last time, I swear” 

Flinching as the crackled glass smashed to the ground, the sound scraped through Adam like nails. He was talking to nobody in particular. The first signs of twilight had already began to streak the sky; He’d sworn to return home by dark. The final rays of sunlight had been snuffed out as Adam transferred his broken glare towards his muddied shoes. Another broken promise. Dwelling was a futile response; if he didn’t move quickly he would undoubtedly get caught. He tentatively approached the bladed frame as the final shard had sounded, unaware of the shadows observing and following his every move from behind.

Manoeuvring skilfully over the corners of glass as he had done many times before, Adam stumbled backwards at the stench of the place, blinking back the tears which threatened to trace down his face. The suffocating aroma of ash and smoke caused an onset of sputtering and coughing; decay had ravaged the inside of the dim room. Like the exterior, it had been starved of light, and outdated decoration drowned the ragged sea underfoot; Obnoxious floral wallpaper crawled across the walls, suffocating any creature unfortunate enough to disturb its slumber. Adam swiftly located an antique watch on the floor, and buried it into his pocket. A lone bottle of bourbon lay bleeding onto a small coffee table, which, upon further inspection, displayed a large range of corpses from a selection of insects colliding with the depleted, golden liquor. Adam was never much of a drinker, anyway. 

***

The job was going poorly; the site was in ruins, and anything of value had been long lost to years of neglect and corrosion. Pushing his luck was never a great idea, especially as the sound of weak floorboards screeched from the room overhead. Within seconds a small group crashed into the room, kicking up a large flurry of dust; Adam was hidden, but not well. 

“We know you’re in here. If you want to play shitty games, that’s on you, but we can assure you that we will not lose.”

Silence. Ice blasted at his veins as a wave of noiseless panic engulfed him, threatening to expose his cover. Blood penetrated through his lip as he gripped his shaking hands; the sudden bombardment of bodies had silenced the formerly ceaseless activity of the site’s residents. Their movements recommenced, shifting on their heels and scouting the area like vultures waiting for their next meal; acid pitted down deeper into his stomach. He needed to escape. A rush of adrenaline carved through his body, pushing him towards his company and smashing into their stocky builds. 

***

Light swept into his glossy eyes as the sea of darkness began to subside; they were observing him. The ragged cloth which bound his jaw was torn from his bruised face, and thrown to the side; the gloom of the corner had already begun to consume it.

“Why are you here?”

“..What..?”

“It’s a simple enough question. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“…”

Daggers hacked violently at his head as the results of the fight washed over him. Reflexively, he attempted to clench his bruised fists; an authoritative command was fired towards him. the energy wouldn’t materialise, however, and he slumped back into his chair. Towering over him was a large male- his tone dripping with harsh, but controlled intonation.

“Answer the fucking question”

“…I’m sorry.”

***

The humidity had decreased by the time Adam stumbled away from his captors, fatigue seeping through his stinging body. He had no doubt that they’d follow through with their warnings; at the same time, he didn’t blame them. He would never return there. That was a promise he wasn’t prepared to break. He didn’t belong there; neither did those before him. The streets were deserted, with rain softly pummelling at the empty roads and soaking the surface of his marked body. As if in deep mourning the street was still, until footsteps yet again shattered the serenity. They echoed mockingly past the back-to-back houses and shopfronts whilst Adam drew closer to his home.

The loose panels of pavement churned waves of mud and rainwater into his path, permeating through his footwear and weighing down his feet. The slightly-flickering security light illuminated the death of an old habit. Standing silently, Adam watched the drops of rain chase down the misty glass panel of the door, debating whether to disturb the slumber of those closest to him. After pushing the door ajar and slithering into the hallway, he locked the door behind him; a subdued whisper, barely audible and drenched in sleep, sounded from a few metres away.

“… I thought something bad happened to you...”

***

“I’m sorry.”