Thursday, August 6, 2015

A Strange Day

It was a strange day.

But then every day was strange when it came to Ricardo.

The man was dark. His soul was suffocating in broken dreams as his life was slowly being stolen away by others.

Ricardo was 6'2" and weighed 195 pound. His arms were sheathed in rock hard muscle, his stomach was flat and tight and his natural handsomeness was complemented with a menacing sneer he could turn on any time he wanted to.

People tended to give him some room.

Still, they took advantage of him.

Inside, where it counts, Ricardo was soft. He was vulnerable.

He was a walking contradiction, exuding toughness on the outside, enduring pain in his heart.

He fought hard to build the life that he had and hated the life that he lived.

Somehow, someway, when he was distracted, he had taken a wrong turn.

He felt trapped.

When the alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. Ricardo had been dreaming of a woman, taking in the warmth of her smile as she thanked him yet again for the exorbitant present he had given her.

Ricardo reached across to the nightstand and brought his fist down forcefully onto the alarm clock.

It shattered and sliced his hand deeply.

It was a strange day.

But it was early.

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