They blinked. I didn't
They have knives. I don't
They've fidgeted twice. I haven't
They're going to die. I'm not
I wouldn't lose a second of sleep over killing them. If I hadn't have been as cautious as I usually am, I would have lost way more than just sleep. This way things worked here in the street. The smart took advantage of those who weren't as smart, and although I don't look it, I'm smart. These idiots standing in front of me thought they could play me. They thought they could outsmart me. They were wrong. The whole situation reminded me of a scene in Hamlet, one of the last books I read in school before my parents died and I was kicked out. The scene with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and Hamlet who was telling them to play the recorder. But Hamlet's friends couldn't, and in the vernacular he yelled "If you can't play something as simple as a flute, why did you think you could play me?"
Idiots. Idiots with knives. As if steel would give them the advantage. This was poetic justice. As sure as two people in true love can't be seperated, those who took advantage of others would get their fitting end. In this case...
I was their fitting end. They tried to betray me, which isn't really why I was going to kill them. Everyone betrays everybody, especially here on the street. The reason they were going to die was because they tried to betray me and failed.
I waited. I rarely make the first move, that way it is them, the people who attack me, who bring their deaths upon themselves. For me it is simply self-defense.
The two boys looked at each other, then back at me, and they charged. I was balanced on the balls of my feet, analyzing their posture, anticipating their moves. The first boy was tensing, getting ready to leap. I ducked down and waited his feet to leave the ground before I stood, pushing his feet with my back, overbalancing him and sending him sprawling.
The second boy raised his arm, preparing to strike, I feinted towards that side, then spun away towards his left. His arm came sailing down, and I brought my knee up while bringing my own arms down. I broke his arm like I would break a big stick, snapping it over my knee. I cut his throat with his own knife.
The first guy was back on his feet, and cautiously making his way towards me. He had a grin on his face, he had me cornered, he was backing me into a wall. He thought he had me. As my back hit the wall I began to feel for the holes that I knew were there. Some I had made myself. I found a good one, and jammed the knife into the hole so that the blade was sticking out. The boy didn't notice. He was too busy patting himself on the back already.
He lunged, I ducked rolled out of the way. He kept moving forward... into the knife sticking out of the wall.
As I walked away, my mind began the endless cycle of debate. One side said "They deserved it. If they didn't want to die they should have prepared, planned, and fought better." The other side replies "Did you have to kill them? You wonder why you have no friends. Give people a chance! By never trusting them they will have no reason to trust in you. That's how this happens." "Yes but they des-"
"SHUT UP!" I yelled. Trying to quiet the voices in my head, but they didn't listen. I trudged back to the door. The door was almost invisible, its' seams were indistinguishable, its color perfectly matched to the rest of the wall. I made it. The people who owned the house never knew. They never used their basement, they thought it was haunted. Not that I had anything to do with that. Ok maybe I did.
I went to the mattress which I called "bed" and laid down. Trying to sleep amidst the war being waged in my mind.