It's not my fault!

by Jay Cruiz

01

The bar was clouded and rowdy, not unusually so for a Friday night. Through the haze of smoke groups of people- whether they be friends, lovers or couples-littered the small place, with their attention glued to the baseball game on the television. Every now and then the rowdy bunch would moan in exasperation as their team lost the ball or cheer when the team scored. All of that was lost to Nick though. The young man sat in the corner, dressed in a simple black suit- the jacket of which was gently resting on the back of his chair- a camel crush cigarette in one hand and a Budweiser in the other. If one were to look into the corner, they would see a man of at least 23 years, with a chocolate complexion and keen hazel eyes that seemed far too old for his youthful face.
Sneering at the happy people he bitterly took a hearty draft from his bottle. All these fucking people. Sitting here happy and cheering, thinking that they are the center of the universe... How... Human. Curling his lips in disgust at the taste of his drink, he sighed heavily. "But at least they are happy.'
Grabbing his black coat and scarf and donning his trilby, he finished the last bit of his drink. Taking in the scene one last time the lone man walked out of the seedy bar, though not before adding a liberal tip to the jar, after all a gentleman always tips, and onto the street. Shivering slightly at the cool spring night he lit up another cigarette and began to slowly trudge back to his home. Nick hated walking, it free'd up his mind to think, and Nick hated to think. He had too many thoughts in his mind, like voices in a crowded room, each one bouncing off the walls and colliding with the others in a chorus of madness...
Nick stopped as he felt a chill run up his spine, like someone, nay something was watching him. Turning slowly he saw a homeless man sitting on a bench not five feet behind him, examining him with jaundiced eyes. "May I help you sir?" Nicks voice was quiet and level, not betraying the sense of litost he felt.
"Indeed you may, my good sir," the homeless man stated, his accent sounding a bit English. "I was wondering if you could spare a fiver for a poor old man?"
"I can do you one better sir, how about a nice hot meal and a fifty?" Mother always said to help those who cannot help themselves.
"THat would be greatly apricaited young man. May I ask your name?"
"Nick, sir. Nichols D. Torrigan." Putting a hand out, Nick helped the older man to his feet, whilst he groaned about his knees.
"I'm too old for this," the man mumbled quietly, dusting off his bum. "Anyway, shall we?"
"So, erm , what's your name?" Nick asked quietly, whilst dodging chunks of bacon.
Wiping his mouth on his napkin the man looked Nick in the eyes, causing him to start when he saw the mans pupils were red and one was slightly larger than the other. "I go by many names. Abaddon, Beelzebub, Loki, Typhon, the list goes on and on... But you kind sir, may call me Discord."
Oh, great he's nuts. Nick though tiredly. Why are they always crazy?
With that the man smiled and Nick saw that one of his incisors was beyond normal length, almost fang like... "And one again I must thank you for this meal," Discord said, gently stroking his salt and pepper beard. "It has been far too long since I have had such a," he screwed his mouth up and audibly swallowed before finishing his sentence, "kindness done for me."
"You all right there?"
"Quite fine, well other than the voices in my head telling me not to fear the reaper, whatever that means. But this isn't about me," he said, completely ignoring the look of pure confusion on the young mans face and grinning in jest. "Tell me, why did you look so glum while you were walking?"
"I-I really don't wish to talk about it," Nick confessed, gently scratching the back of his head, before looking Discord in the eyes.
"You should, it will help to get it off your chest..." His voice was smother than water slipping down a glass pane, and had a hypnotizing quality to it.
"Yo-your eyes. The-the-the pupils, they're..." Nicks words were lost as he watched the older mans pupils, one would shrink and the other would grow, and they alternated between actions in a semi-fast rhythmic fashion, going along with Nicks heartbeat.
"Yes, yes I know, the eyes, now tell me what you were thinking about!" He ordered quietly.
"Humanity." Nick answered ins a low monotone voice. "I was thinking about the human race, how I loathe it how I wish it was gone. How I wish I could be somewhere else, be someone else to escape this hellish drag that I call my life. How I think i am insane. Do you know the definition of Insanity? Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. And that's what I do, I work a nine to five job as a dishwasher, I live alone, have no interests and hate the world, all because I am alone in it. I'm a bitter old man in a young mans body." Nick laughed slightly and without emotion. "I just wish I was somewhere else. I wish I could relate to living beings better than I can now... I-I just want to have somewhere that I can go and be greeted as a friend, to have someone I can talk to, someone to sleep beside me at night... I just don't want to be alone anymore..." Tears were running down the mans face, the only emotion on his otherwise blank visage.
"Don't want to be alone anymore?" The old man smiled bitterly and nodded. "I feel your pain. As a man who was once in your position I can understand that." Snapping his fingers Nick slumped over snoring. "Sweet dreams, Nick Torrigan, for when you wake your life will never be the same." Standing the man snapped again, and the ragged clothes he was wearing reformed into a brown suit with a yellow button up with the top button unopened and a red tie loosely hanging around his neck. Slicking back his now clean hair, the god of chaos grinned and put a twenty on the table and slipped a card into Nicks pocket.