To be a friend to everyone is to be an enemy to one’s self, an ideology that emphasizes putting one’s own needs over the needs of others. Subsequently, an ideal opposite to what had been preached to Malcolm his whole life by his priest father and something his activist mother stood against. However, those two were long gone now, taken from him by the unfair world he lived in.

“What a stupid quote.”

Powering off the screen of his phone, where he had read the excerpt, he tucked it into his bag while staring out the window of the metro train, watching the coming stations pass and go. Another late shift, he thought; it wasn’t uncommon for Malcolm to arrive home late due to his obligations as a reporter. However, that didn’t mean he ever got used to it. Rubbing his eyes to stay awake, the young man lamented how even when he got home, there would be no one waiting for him, no one to greet him, and no one to worry about his late arrival. His spiral of negative thoughts was interrupted by his phone vibrating and ringing in his bag.

Unlatching the hook of his bag, he grabbed his phone, powering on the screen to check his notification. “A text from Ms. Lane?” Julia Lane, the woman who his father had saved at the cost of his life when his church was set ablaze by a hate group cloaked in white, trapping her and two children inside. She’s also the same woman who took in an orphaned 13-year-old Malcolm in order to repay his father’s selfless yet costly act. While Julia tried her best to be a mother figure to Malcolm and raise him alongside her own child, she was no replacement for his mother, although he never truly knew his mother as she had died 3 years after his birth due to complications with her second pregnancy. Malcolm read the message to himself as the train headed towards its final stop, where he’d finally depart.

“Happy 19th Birthday Malcolm!”

“Your sister and I were hoping you’d come back down to Louisiana so we can celebrate”

“Or if it’s easier we can come up to NY”

“So let us know Mal! Happy Bday!!”

The doors opened as the train stopped at its final station of the night, letting off the remainder of its passengers. Malcolm pocketed his phone and stood up, making his way off the train and onto the station platform.

“Geez texting me happy birthday at exactly 12 o’clock is a bit much no?”

Malcolm smiled a bit, whispering to himself while making a mental note to respond once he gets home and to give her a call when morning comes. Suddenly, the usual quiet and still thickness of a late-night departure was cut clean through by a sharp shriek from a young woman.

“St..stay AWAY YOU FrEaK!”

Her shaky yet loud voice immediately drew the attention of Malcolm as he pushed past the small clusters of people towards the yelp. Finally breaking through, he saw a lady of a darker complexion trying to break free of the grasp of a man who reeked of booze dressed in tattered clothing.

“ME?? The FREAK??”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“The nerve of YOU PEOPLE”

The man, now reaching the end of his short fuse, cocked his arm back for a swing at the girl. Using her free arm, she covered her face, bracing for the punch coming her way.

“HEY! That’s more than enough!”

Malcolm had dropped his bag and darted over to the two, grabbing the man’s arm before he could bring his fist down upon the women. Maddened by his intervention, the drunkard shoved the lady down and shook off Malcolm’s arm, taking two steps back with his head held low.

“…ha..hah..AHAHAHAHA”

“Make my day and try me boy..”

“Ill put you back in your place for stepping to me”

The crazed drunk cackled as he reached into the pocket of his ripped-up jacket, pulling out something that shone, reflecting off the station light.

“Shit…”

“I didn’t expect him to have a knife,” Malcolm thought as he tried to think of how to deal with the situation at hand. While it is true that he boxed when he was younger, he was out of practice and going against an armed assailant, so surely this wasn’t going to be easy. Deciding to play defensive, he put up his guard, waiting for an opening.

“RAHHRG!”

Lunging towards Malcolm, the man reached out his arm, slashing and stabbing quickly and relentlessly. Malcolm did his best bobbing, weaving, and blocking in order to protect himself from the array of attacks his way. Believing to have survived the onslaught in one piece, aside from the myriad of cuts and slices on his forearms, he wiped his mouth with the non-bloody part of his inner sleeve after jumping back to create distance from the man.

“DOnt You DARE RUN from ME!”

With the man pointing his finger at Malcolm with his knife dropped to the side, Malcolm devised a plan to end this altercation. He had been through so much during his short 19 years of life and even questioned his faith several times before. Sometimes wondering if giving to others is truly rewarding or some weak-minded bullshit, but no matter what, he thought he was absolutely his father’s son, meaning if it meant helping someone, his body would react before his mind could tell him no.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t understand you with all your missing teeth and fucked-up gums you mind coming closer and repeating that for me?”

Irking him on, Malcolm readied himself for another lunge, and he certainly got just that, as he was immediately pounced on by the man while he let out a barely coherent scream.

“IM GONnA FFFUuCKING KIll YOUUUU!!”

Using his short temper against him, Malcolm antagonized him just enough to get him to attack recklessly, allowing for an easy counterattack and disarm. Side-stepping to the right with a swift jab to the back of his elbow, dislocating it, the knife slipped out and fell towards the ground at a rate that felt eternally slow. Surely it was the adrenaline rush provided by fighting for his life, but it was like time had stopped for Malcolm.

“Clank!”

“ARGUHHAHH”

Screaming out in pain, the drunkard was quickly knocked unconscious by a powerful overhand punch to the jaw, dropping him to the ground not too much later from the knife’s arrival to the metro floor.

“ha….ahh fuck”

Malcolm’s body had reached its limit, causing his knees to buckle, forcing him to the ground flat on his back with a thud as he stared up at the ceiling light of the station. Gasping for air, he inhaled and exhaled heavily, wondering why his breathing was so labored. Was he truly that tired?

The young woman from before quickly rushed over into Malcolm’s frame of view, but he quickly watched as her expression changed from gratefulness to despair with the color draining from her face. Malcolm attempted to ask what was wrong but couldn’t speak. It was as if his lungs were filled with water and he was drowning.

Seeing the lady stare hopelessly down towards his stomach, Malcolm reached his trembling hand down to his abdomen and felt around before bringing his hand back into view. His hand was coated in dark red blood, as was the inner part of his sleeve. Amidst the fight during the initial barrage, a hit slipped through his guard and punctured an artery, ripping it open.

In war, if a soldier is hit in the artery, they are left for dead, as the odds of their survival are next to none, and to waste time and resources on a dead man breathing wouldn’t be smart for the rest of the platoon. A necessary sacrifice for the sake of the others if you will.

While the woman attempted to put pressure on the wound, calling out to the crowd for someone to call 911, it was simply too late. All Malcolm could see was her lips moving, but he could hear no voice as his body convulsed, and soon his body would grow numb and his vision would start to grow dark.

“God protects those who don’t stray from the path of righteousness, and those who give will surely receive.”

Words that Malcolm often heard from his father when things got tough or when it seemed like the world was out to get him. Feeling the last of his strength leave him, his last thoughts came to mind.

“I gave all my life, but I never received anything but more being taken from me.”

“My mother..”

“My father..”

“And now even my life.”

“This is all such bullshit; all I ever wanted was to live happily in a world that would allow such things.”

The last words to pass through his mind were once again from his late father: “God gives us strength; God gives us light.” But there was no light to be found for Malcolm, at least not in this life. A life forever clouded in a never-ending darkness.