His hand searched the concrete for some sort of rock he could pick up and use. Time sat still before he clawed it over to him before gaining a better grip upon it. His arm raised up to the same position as before, hesitating a bit longer this time, then slammed downward. The large piece of chipped concrete pushed into the old man's face. It ever so slightly dented his face further and further with each successive crash. Small vessels under the man's skin popped with ease and squirted blood in every direction that could be reached. His jacket, his face, the ground- if it was in range, it was in the unfortunate position of getting splattered. Any blood that decided not to spray began collecting into a small pool atop the poor man's concave face.
Any details previously carved in his face had been compressed and smashed into the guts of a watermelon. Faint breaths could be heard, although they grew quieter and quieter as the pummeling progressed. Bubbles could be heard popping from the man's throat too. It could've been that some of the blood had been knocked in and began to suffocate him and create that gross popping and gurgling noise. Any previous smell the hobo emitted was blanketed by the image of that crimson red pulp and the blunt swirling stench of the garbage receptacle. The hobo's hand that clung to his arm kept its weak grip even as the rest of his body had the life evaporate. The facial destruction had become a routine for the past 5 minutes or so. His arm slowly drained of strength till he threw his knuckle one last time. His spine curled outwards as he let in and out deep breaths. The mess he had created was so satisfying. It was the same release as if he had given a dastardly villain what he deserved.
His bloodied hand grasped his neck, massaging himself to keep his hands busy while looking down at the scene below. The old man's beanie had fallen off earlier due to his first swing. You'd expect a hat of that variety to hold some sort of grip, but oh well. He inverted his curl and leaned forth, getting a closer look of the face. Will this look good enough? His right hand formed a crab claw and hovered over his victim's face. He pushed into where his cheekbone and forehead were and dug a bit into the mushy red mash. The man's eye began to jut out a bit more and revealed itself slightly. The veins beneath the pink irritated retina protruded more than usual, possibly from the rush of being beaten like a punching bag. He relieved the pressure from his eye and drifted his finger down towards the mouth. He let go of his hand from his neck to open up and used both hands to push the jaw down and reveal what lies beneath. A small waterfall of blood flowed down into the throat from the top of his face, the blood began building up inside his throat. It was assured that this man wasn't breathing. He could definitely tell he was still alive from all the jitters and jerks he could feel from the dying man's chest.
He let go of the jaw and dismounted from the hobo and wiped off the fresh blood that covered both hands. It didn't go as planned, unfortunately, leaving more stains to cover his hands and arms and making him look much more messy than before. It could be used as inspiration for the final product, though. Make him look insane or like he'd gone off the rails. He shuffled briefly to his canvas duffle bag and fell to his knees. The air became sharp, poking and prodding him to hurry. He unzipped his bag with speed and fumbled around with its insides before pulling out the camera he so desperately searched for. Like a flip phone he opened it up and aimed the digital camera at himself. The hand that wasn't tied to the camera pushed back against the ground and gave enough of a boost to help the man up. His feet took a couple short steps back. His breaths shortened and quickened. He was shaking. He rehearsed the lines he wanted to get out so bad in his head. Then, before he knew it, the thumb that hovered over the record button was pressed.
"Hey, what's up guys, it's Xx_PussyDestroyer69_xX but you can call Eric, haha. Today, I wanna announce my new and very cool project," he paused momentarily to add a bit of dramatic effect. Maybe adding a little drum roll in post.
"That's right, I'm gonna direct a movie! It's gonna be called 'Funny Man' and it's gonna be about a failed entertainer who's down in the dumps from his career. He has this guy he looks up to and stuff, but I don't wanna spoil the plot! Basically, if you've seen Taxi Driver or Joker then you'll get a similar (maybe even better) experience. The film is really deep, it- it really goes into this broken and hurt character i've created but is still the kind of guy you'd root for unexpectedly. It's gonna be a character study in a nutshell. I wrote the screenplay in like 5 days so it's gonna be really good. I even worked on some of the special effects already!" The camera spins around and aims at the pummeled corpse that laid on the ground.
"I got a really good production team and-and it's just gonna be really cool. It's gonna reflect my depression and I'm basically gonna make my magnum opus. It's gonna be really good." It then spins back to Eric and his grin that seemed to be a bit too wide for what he displayed to his viewership.
"Anyways, thanks for watching. I hope you see when it comes out in... in you know uhh. 2023. Or 2024. Of course, coming out after I finish my short story collection called 'there's nothing left for me but a sad void of shitty doo doo fuck...' Cya!" He pressed the button once more then began packing his things. Once he finished packing, he wiped the sweat that was forming across his chest and armpits away in an attempt to quell what anxiety was forming within him. His eyes gave a good stare at the lifeless body before him. They analyzed the details of the body as he thought of places to put it. Of course, just dump it in the trash. Don't know why I needed so much time to think of such an easy place. He wedged his forearms and biceps between the hobo's armpits before dragging him across the concrete. The weight could be felt on him in more ways than one, but especially in the man's stomach. That's what beer belly does to you. The struggle of lifting such a heavy, old man dawned on him when he reached the front of the trash. He put all of his energy into the muscles that carried and was able to get everything past the waist. A short break progressed swiftly before finishing off the job of cleaning a beautiful mess. The sweat of his brow had been swiped away. He'd surveyed the site and concluded the body was hidden well enough for him to sleep well at night.
A large sigh escaped him. A cheeky smirk lifted upon his face, thinking about how cool his character study of a flawed character would be. He nodded to himself about the idea before collecting his duffle bag. He gave the insides one more look to make sure he didn't lose his camera, script, tripod, etc. His shoulder demanded to grab on and hold his bag for him. Eric fulfilled said demands and gave the alleyway one more look before leaving. A bit of a splatter on one of the walls, no big deal. His smirk persisted as he turned his back on his previous backdrop and walked away in pride. It's not easy being human and it's certainly not easy being an auteur.
