Life Behind A Glass

4. Foe

                  

Every image, every sound and every scene was recorded, imprinted vividly in my mind. Indelible, no matter how many years passed.

After the audition was over, I walked back to my house, skipping joyfully humming my audition song. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw them. Their fierce eyes and annoying grunts followed my movements.

"Hey, look at that. Our Jim is here," Mike shouted. "With his big head and lousy guitar."

I didn't heed him and walked faster. But one of them yanked at the guitar bolted on my back. I fell down and they laughed boisterously. They grabbed my guitar and tossed it around. There were six of them.

"What do you want, Mike? I don't want any problem. Please give me back my guitar."

"Who do you think you are, huh? Do you think that guitar is going to get you anywhere else? I'm so pissed. You're born here. You stay here and you end up here. You work with me." He shouted with his hoarse voice right to my ear.

"I don't want to be involved with your business. Dangerous stuff. I'm gonna be jailed."

"You're either for me or against me. Your choice Jim."

When I shook my head and tried to snatch my guitar from one of the guys, Mike shoved me. I landed on the concrete. My cheek was burning from rubbing the gravel. I couldn't see what they did to my guitar but the next second, a loud crack pierced through my spine leaving me motionless for few seconds. The only thing I wanted was to run away but I couldn't. They pinned me down while hitting the guitar to the road divider. From the corner of my eyes, I saw shards scattered in the concrete lying helplessly just like me. For few minutes that felt like few forevers I was their toy. Me, the helpless young boy with big dreams and his guitar. They held me down, beat me, ruffled my hair and laughed at me for being weak. I was sure they didn't give me the full intensity of beating like they gave to other guys because I lasted for about fifteen whole minutes which I didn't think I could.

I was relieved as Mike commanded the rest to leave this 'useless white trash'. But before my face was even one foot off the ground, Mike turned back quickly, kicked me in the face and trod my left hand, which was holding the notebook, with his heavy metal boots. It felt like a small bomb had been exploded right on my fingers. Thousands of glass shards pierced through every layer of my bones and skin. And that was it.