Holes In My Flesh and A Stab Wound In His

 Uninterested in sitting and doing nothing at home, I decided to change. A simple vest over a simpler dress shirt hugged my torso; a newly bought top hat kissed my hair. I walked out and kept walking until I had come to a halt. The bench near to the closest butcher's was a good a place as any to do nothing at all. There's not much you could have done anyway in my small town. It was either you were born into wealth or you had to dirty your hands for it. And I was in no mood to damage mine.

The latest obsession with cigars had lead to the terrible smell of smoke to compliment the already dark sky. I was told crime was on the rise at this hour. But so was my unconcern. Plus, all that was worthy of stealing was the hat on my head.

Ignoring the smell of the meat from the butcher's and the cigars which were probably also being smoked by the butcher, my eyes fell on a man just as overweight as the butcher. It was a policeman standing near a light pole, staring at me. I would have bet a few quids he would have been comparing me to the butcher as well but I hadn't brought any money. The hat was off betting limits. His eyes darted around, so did mine.

"Excuse me, may I?" A man younger than the police man and seemingly a few years older than me gestured at the empty space beside me.

"Go ahead, sir," I moved to offer him more space.

"And what might a man like you be doing on a bench alone on a night like this?" His mustache moved along with his lips. He had clearly mistaken me for a man of wealth, the top hat can do wonders for anyone.

"I might ask you the same," I hadn't found a better answer than "wasting time".

"I'm taking a break from my shop, it's close to the butcher's. I'm a tailor."

A tailor, I could have pursued that field. With the height of fashion, as I am told by the papers, that job brings in more than enough.

The police man now thinks this man is probably an old friend I've decided to meet at this uncrowded street. Maybe he is why I am here, to make a middle class friend. Perhaps if I hadn't brought the top hat he wouldn't have bothered to talk to me. I could possible get him to buy me some meat if I stir the conversation in my favor.

"And what is it that you do?" the dreaded question escaped from under the dark hair of his mustache.

"I'm afraid I can't inform you," I know he wouldn't suspect my unemployment. Next time I'll steal a bow tie as well.

"Curious," He pouted and offered his hand," I'm Douglas."

"Brian," might as well use a fake name too, I shook his hand.

The police man and I coincidentally locked eyes the second I looked up. Nods were exchanged.

"What are you doing?" I turned back to Douglas a second after. He hadn't let go of my hand yet.

My eyebrows furrowed when I saw a thin needle in his left hand. His right gently holding onto my hand from the bottom. My palm exposed.

"I'm busy," he shot a smile towards me and then proceeded.

Too confused and once again unconcerned, I just decided to watch him rather than interfere. Perhaps he had found a thorn he had decided to help me prick out.

The next thing I knew he had started to pick at my flesh. It didn't hurt, the needle wasn't aimed too deep. Just enough to tear through my skin. No blood loss. After a few seconds of anticipating some form of explanation I had decided to ask again," What are you doing?"

He ignored me and carried on.

"Douglas?" my tone was more serious now.

"I'm busy," this time he didn't even look up at me.

I turned to the police officer who was staring right at us.

"What is the meaning of this?" I looked at the small tears covering my palms. He had moved fast. His needle was sharper and clearly of a better quality than the ones I had seen.

I tried to free my hand from his but his grip tightened. I looked once again at the officer who was now smiling at us. My discomfort was clear and I was trying to make a scene the best I could. The officer had now turned away, as if he had seen nothing unusual at all.

The tears looked rather like holed in my skin, perhaps from some sort of accident. Luckily there was still no blood loss. But the operation had started to sting. The holes looked rather unnerving and so did Douglas. There was something wrong with this man and the smile on his face.

"Stop!" I gathered my voice, "Stop this instant. What are you doing? Stop."

I pushed him away but now he had gripped my other hand. Surely the police man must have seen that, he had. But once again he only smiled towards me and looked away.

The madman beside me had already managed to pierce through skin on my second hand and I was fearing he would now head for my face.

"Stop," I yelled loudly, pushing him away.

I managed to escape from his grip and now I was on my feet, ready to make a run. But things were not so easy, he clutched at me while the police man paid no attention.

I couldn't help but look at my hands that were now severely torn through. Fearing what he might do next, I grabbed a pencil from the pocket of my vest and aimed towards him. A few aims later the pen had penetrated his chest.

The police man rushed over, I could see him through my peripherals.

"What have you done young man, apologize," he worriedly exclaimed.

"I am sorry," I muttered while staring at the officer rather than my victim.

There were holes in my flesh and a stab wound in his.