Weight of the World

Daniel’s dark alley was marred by a strip of hard white light from the busy street beyond, its beam highlighting the bottle in his hand and the precious amber liquid within. He watched as the bubbles rose from the bottom, speeding their way through the last inch of beer. He was hypnotised by it. Ignoring the cold that his cardboard shelter did little to protect him from, the sounds of rats scratching about in the dumpster beside him. The bottle in his hand was all that mattered. The only thing that eased the pain that haunted him. It was his life, his church and he was beyond devout.

Sirens blared somewhere off in the distance. They were all too frequent these days in a world gone to ruin, drowning in selfish entitlement and instant gratification. People took more and more, and giving was less than a memory. A few generations was all it took. There was not the slippery downhill slope older folk would talk about. Compassion, empathy, morals; they’d simply jumped off a cliff.

Daniel had tried to help when he was younger. Fought so hard for a world that was better. Fought and failed. And what had it gotten him? Misery? Heartbreak? Now all he wanted was to drown the sorrows that plagued him. With a mournful sigh, he threw back the last of the beer and tossed the empty bottle, watching as it rolled away into the darkest end of the alley to join the other bottles that piled up behind the local watering hole.

“Come now, sir. There’s no need to litter.” The voice was deep and authoritative and coming from the dead end. Daniel’s head rolled about to look for the speaker, his brow furrowing as he tried to understand where the man had come from. There was a flash of red, white, and blue as the man bent to retrieve the bottle but as he approached, it was clear what he wore was not so colourful and simply a nondescript black sweatsuit. He gave Daniel a warm smile as he passed and tossed the bottle into the dumpster, uncaring of the startled squeak of a foraging rat.

Alone and empty-handed, Daniel pulled his dirty blanket and cardboard about him, settling in for a nap. His brain was suitably foggy, enough to get him to sleep at least, if not enough to quell his nightmares.

“Danny, what are you still doing here? You know the boss is going to beat you if he finds you out here.”

Daniel cracked an eye to see Becky standing above him, her tiny frame silhouetted in the light and sounds of the bar’s open rear door. She held in her hands someone’s half-eaten meal and a beer that looked three-quarters full. Daniel licked his lips and sat to take the offered food. Despite her warning, Becky knew she would find him here. She wouldn’t have brought the meal otherwise. She was a kind soul, a bright spark in this dismal world and Daniel would take a thousand of Jack’s beatings to bask in that light.

“It’s cold tonight, Danny,” she said. “You should take me up on my offer and come to my place. You could shower and wash your clothes. Maybe I could give you a haircut and a shave.”

“You should know better than to take home strangers, Becky. How many girls have you saved from spiked drinks and possessive men?”

“Too many,” she replied. Squatting down to his level, she put a hand on his shoulder, unperturbed by his noxious odour. He had lived with it for so long, he no longer smelt it. “But you are not a stranger anymore, Danny. You’ve lived back here for almost two years.”

Daniel shook his head. “My problems are not yours to bear.”

“And your problems don’t have to be shouldered alone.” She held out the beer to him. Not once had she condemned him for his vice. She simply sought to ease his life. “Just do me a favour and think about it, okay?”

Taking the beer, he nodded noncommittally. He knew he would never burden her, as he suspected she did, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

“Alright, Danny. I’ll see you later.”

She left him, taking the boisterous sounds of the bar with her, locking away the false merriment of the people inside that were a wrong choice away from sitting next to him in this alley.

“Foolish girl,” Daniel muttered to himself.

“Who’s foolish?” It was the same deep voice from before, now heavily slurred from intoxication. He wobbled his way down the alley to plonk himself beside Daniel and handed him a small bottle of whiskey. The man unscrewed his own and took a swig. “Can’t drink alone now, can I? So, who’s foolish?”

“The barmaid.” Daniel put his lukewarm beer aside in favour of the warming spirit.

“Ah, Becky.” The man rested his head back against the brick wall, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I’d marry that girl in an instant if I knew I wouldn’t drag her down with me.”

If it were thirty years ago, Daniel would have had the same thoughts. “Had a rough day, friend?”

“Jimmy,” the man offered. “Every day is a rough day, and it’s only getting harder. I honestly don’t know why I try anymore.”

“Then don’t.” It probably wasn’t the encouragement Jimmy was looking for but Daniel had given up long ago.

Jimmy grimaced. “Someone’s got to. You must know what’s going on out there.”

Daniel did; all too well.

“I wish it were the old days. You could really give it to the bad guys back then. Now, you accidentally break the arm of some jerk that just mugged an old lady, and even she’s giving it to you about rights and brutality.” Jimmy waved his arms about, sloshing his precious drink. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Daniel realised who he was talking to. He had not imagined the red, white, and blue. He peered at the neck of Jimmy’s sweats looking for that flash of colour but he was zipped up tight. But it didn’t matter. Who would believe the alcoholic homeless man, anyway?

He felt for Jimmy. The job had been hard when he was young, but now it was impossible. He didn’t want to crush the enthusiasm of youth but he wanted to let Jimmy know he understood more than anyone. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out the one possession he had that meant something to him, the only thing that reminded him of better days. Without a word, he handed it to Jimmy.

The younger man politely took it.

“Nice mask,” he said, but his eyes narrowed and he tilted it further into the sliver of streetlight. His frown deepened as he looked from the mask to Daniel and back to the mask. “This is Deathbringer’s mask. You’re Deathbringer?”

Daniel shushed him.

“You were my idol,” Jimmy began blabbering. “I always wanted to be just like you. Deathbringer is such a cool name. So fear inspiring. You know what they call me, don’t you?”

It was impossible not to know; it was plastered on every billboard, TV and paper. A feeble attempt to give the masses hope the situation wasn’t so dire.

“Captain Law.” Jimmy took a deep pull on his bottle. “How terrible is that? I hate it. If I knew who coined it, I’d go give them what for.”

Daniel chuckled. He wished he had had someone to talk to when he was young and full of life. Maybe things would have turned out better. “It’s not that bad.”

“It really is.” Jimmy settled back deeper against the wall. If he relaxed any more, he would share Daniel’s pallet tonight. “Why did you stop?”

“Because for every Becky out there, there were a thousand more wanting to tear me down and from what I see now, it’s so much worse for you. The pressure to perform. The impossibility of pleasing everyone. In the end, it all became too much, and this was easier.” He jiggled his bottle, the liquid sloshing about. Daniel watched the despondency settle about Jimmy like a blanket, smothering and heavy. He raised his bottle in a sardonic toast. “Here’s to your journey of becoming me. Salute.”