Blood Money

The air of was musty.
This city hadn't seen the sun in almost 2 months due to heavy overcast and it was obvious in the townspeople's demeanor: groggily walking along the cobblestone paths of the popular square, not bothering with any co-passerbys and always with an umbrella propped up to salvage their efforted appeals. Their souls were dulling in the absence of light, and could be reconsidered as living in a ghost town. Shoes were continuously proven to be no match against the average surprising puddle of rain water and good hair care was a thing of the present past that's return was left unknown.

Night and day weren't such opposites anymore.
Neither was hot and cold.

The contrasting elements were finally starting to blend into an ungraceful balance of bipolar ingredients that was hard to swallow. Taking cough syrup with milk to wash it down. A grilled cheese sandwich on pumpernickel bread. Wearing short and knee-high socks at the same time.

As it has been said, the weather is usually a sure correlation to something much greater -something more effective and involved than a downpour washing off your makeup. One in this town could say that the lack of mother nature's kindness signaled deeper troubles within the city's structure itself; it had something to do with the way everyone was going to have to live from this point on, from the first day that the first drop touched down on the first patch on location.

Meet Matt Godfrey.

His hands were cold, and for anyone that knew him long enough could tell you that Matthew Godfrey's hand's never got cold. He was one of the most warm-blooded individuals on the planet and throughout the vast majority of his solar system, where his only contender was the sun. If you found your way back to civilization from a blizzard no titan could ever survive, and the first human being you gave contact to was him, he could save you from frostbite and maybe cure it as well.

Shake one of his palms as you met him and a hot flash would roll over. Engage in a high five and it was equivalent to slapping a hot skillet.

Not only was this a physical attribute, but an emotional show-off as well; he was overly caring towards everyone who expressed similar kindness. Whenever he heard the famous bell of The Salvation Army with some guy dressed as Santa, he gave as he entered and exited the building he had arrived to. If there was a bum on the street he was on he wasn't left hungry, for Matt would buy them something from the closest food joint and ensure that their stomach was full as their eyes closed for sleep later in the night.

He was a people person, and no one said goodbye without viewing at least one smile on the man's face. It was a natural as a depressing day for the depressed. A day of reading for future Shakespeare. He was known as the grinning guy between all of his mates and the lover for humanity and all its minorities pushed together to live as one.

He has a girlfriend, and her name is Lisa. His dear, dear Lisa.
She possessed an overflowing, wavy mane of a true brunette hue, model cheekbones, porcelain skin, sparkling eyes, and a smile to light up any dark corner. They've been interlocking hands in a romantic fashion for a little over two years, and of course, they lived together. Like him, she was also one of the warmest people to come across, only this was an acquired coziness.

They were interlocking hands again, only they were shown off across a diner table loosely for any lonely or same-situationed individual to view and either smile or sink to a lower level of depression. Her hands were cracking and partially manicured, most of the nails ripped off from average accidents and deteriorating fragility; she stared down at them, somewhat sadly, before her sight trailed on to her lover's hands. They were cold and clammy signaling the horizon of sickness and the drought of a misery long-so experienced. Lisa honestly wanted to be home, in his arms, watching a chick flick that he would consider distasteful, and have a fire going with a sharp and warm crackle.

They hadn't the means to do something like that for a month, what with not having the ability to afford it or the relaxed drive to go through an evening as such; money had been tight and the two were simply trying to get by on light meals and other essentials. This was their first night out in that very 31-day duration, and even then as it was costly; Matt had always promised to take Lisa out on a date every 4-weeks, no matter the circumstances. She insisted that it wasn't necessary to show her such luxury since he had already won her over, little did she ever know about his true fear of a relationship eventually to become submerged in mediocrity.

All around him were dying romances that were bonded in their individual auras more and more and for longer spans of time. Everywhere he could sense dull eyes and loose grips between phalanges; this was a dynamic reason why he also secured his hold on Lisa's fingers and kissed her on the head: he wanted the contact to remain strong, and the only cause of a break up was labeled as 'infidelity' which he knew was highly impossible on both ends, or at least, he strongly hoped on Lisa's side. He was no mind reader, but her love was apparent enough not to raise alarm.

Face as light as a feather, she took notice of her surroundings, of the entire restaurant that encompassed her: ringing bells next to the lazy cooks, roller skates against scuffed linoleum, and quiet chatters among the other customers. It was a typical diner setting, loved by the two of them times before, but now, they couldn't help but feel that things were different, that there was a contrasting, still air around them.

Maybe it was the infinite row of middle-aged men sitting at the counter.

Starting with a balding white man and ending with a Hispanic, their backs were turned to Matt and Lisa in stiffness and declining health. Coffees were at each of the right-hand corners at their small sectors, some with vacant plates with little to no food remaining; each stomach was surely filled, for Matt saw every last one of them as he entered, and they were almost finished with their meals. His inner eyebrows were raised at the oddity of all still sitting, waiting for their checks.

As Lisa observed, however, she took note of the body language of the two waitresses as well who gave the man vulnerability in the most minimal dose, staring at a cautious distance as though floating around in a shark cage with a small yet deep cut on the index finger. They walked by every now and then across the length of the counter and glanced at one man or another. One woman was brunette, hair in a loose bun, and looked expectantly from the abandoned check of one customer in front of her. The other, with blond locks and a face made up nice in foundation and shadow, strayed away from the mysterious older men; she was the on with fear in her eyes.

In this, Matthew's girlfriend knew that the off-setting feeling was radiating the strongest from that area and squeezed his hand tighter.
"Matt, I don't like it here."

He gave an odd look.

"What do you mean? We always come here."

Without realizing her own actions, she blinked towards the counter. Only in that millisecond had he seen her do it and Matt turned his head in that direction. His acute scale of normality flickered at the men when he entered the establishment, yes, but not enough to get bent out of shape over it -he figured he was just stressed and paranoid about what had been happening to him and Lisa's current lifestyle that was everyone else's as well. So no, they were not the only ones going through a financial strain.

The whole town was cruising past speed bumps and continuously popping tires; each and every passenger aboard the double-decker could feel its rapid demise. The economy was falling apart and they stood as empty ghosts in its midsts, their pockets devoid of worthy trade and hard labor for, perhaps, a biscuit. It was gradually more difficult for the poor, cold couple to keep their occasional diner nights going even as they purchased smaller portions of salads and the cheapest meals on the menu. The jobs they carried were no longer enough to live the way they had gladly adjusted to, and Matthew could view the same frustration within those older men's eyes and now in the tightness of their back muscles.

The brunette waitress vanished behind the counter to another room, the door flapping back and forth after she passed through, and her silhouette could still be seen. It coalesced with a much taller one of a masculine stature, her hands' gestures divided in three parts: the restaurant, herself, and the mystery man. Matt figured it was obviously someone of higher authority that she was complaining to, and he felt as uneasy as Lisa had expressed, about to witness an uncomfortable scene that he held no part in. He absentmindedly rubbed the outside of his girlfriend's hand with his calloused thumb for being branded as a working man as the implied manager fled from his office, the upfront brunette trailing behind, and stood in front of the horizontal line of customers.

The couple could only view the backs of their heads and it mimicked a short row of buoys, bobbing ever so gently or completely idle. The manager's face was set in stone; strict; unforgiving; forceful.

"Alright gentlemen, are you ready to pay now?"

The tone was as hard as his expression, yet the men were not deterred.

In the middle was a dull blond head of hair who craned his neck upward, then in a calm voice replied,
"Not yet, sir. This is not the correct amount on my ticket. It's too much."

The man in charge began to place his thick hands on his hips as the waitress rolled her eyes irritatedly.

"Listen here, I'm only gonna tell you once: you gotta pay or else you're just causin' more trouble for yourself."

"I work hard for my money and I'm not spending it all here! I'm not payin' 20 bucks for a cheeseburger!"

Lisa's eyes are filled with alert and she pleaded with them towards Matt for the two to leave. He should have known that this was going to be a bad night at the diner -prices were rising at a terrifying rate and it had become a war between the restaurant and the people it was supposed to serve. The pricing was ludicrous and even he knew it. It wasn't as if they could go to another place to eat and also discover solitude because it was the same everywhere.

Their once peaceful town was hanging off its hinges and the enraged society kept pulling until it would soon tear off; they were all on edge of disaster and it rattled all bones. Comfort would cease to be first mission and safety would quickly take its place. Whenever taking a stroll through town, he could sniff the anarchy stitched in the air, taste the up-and-coming movement on the tip of his tongue whenever he stuck it out to catch a snowflake or when his lips were slightly parted between kisses with Lisa or while he breathed through his mouth; it was distinct and bitter and unnerving.

Livid beyond belief, the manager turned on his heel and hotly stomped back to his office where not one but both waitresses joined, and Lisa bit her bottom lip nervously at the scene. Upon watching, she knew instantly that this was a sit-in. Last time she heard of this occurring was way back in the 60s during the civil-rights movement and could be considered the immediate prologue to actual protest. It scared her, but not as much as when a piercing blow came from behind her and she ducked down on instinct.

Every heart in the diner almost choked its inhabitants to an accidental death in shock. The huge, showcasing window in the front, close to where they were seated was shattered and only left with a huge gaping hole in the center with pointed, hazardous edges. No one moved a muscle, but only listened to cheers and screams from the outside in its birth stages and bound to grow, Matt looked at Lisa to ensure her in-tact health and security then to the window. He was close enough to see what had been pelleted past the glass and crashed towards the black and white checkered floor space, but what he saw surprised him: coins spread out around the area with the remnants of a jar top neighboring its circumference, sprinkled like a metal, close-to-worthless downpour The culprit must have evaporated in the chaos of his environment out there to leave everyone inside petrified.

An older woman in the back had shrieked as it happened and the aftermath was all the infants in the building sobbing loudly, and other than that it was all silence. It was a minute in passing until everyone began to calm their reactive nervous systems and try to enjoy their meals again without paying too much attention to the new temperature, excess of human noise compared to a couple minutes previously, and sunlight beating down on the unfortunate souls sitting at the table closest to the attack.

"Let's just get out of here,"
Lisa told Matt with a quivering voice, unstable as the vicinity's window.

"I wanna go home before things get worse."

There was no need for anymore convincing, for he nodded gratefully and got up from his seat. They were in delicate danger and if his girlfriend was uncomfortable, he could no longer win her over with dinner but instead by being rational. They hadn't ordered anything yet, to their luck, so he held her hand again as they treaded past everyone towards the door and escaped. She let go and instead linked her forearm around his upper left one at the unfolding event before them filled with gentle cheering and a few small groups of people walking in cliques back and forth along the road, some holding picket signs or loitering with chants expanding in volume. The pits of their stomachs were once again disturbed upon mentally confirming that this was the hot and cold clouds crashing together to conform into a protesting tornado; a riot that would very soon suck up everything worth taking or destroying in its path.

They had to get back to the apartment and fast before the rebels would get a hold of them and things would become even worse. A group with guns would capture Matt and induct him into their violent group to loot nearby stores then do whatever they pleased to his precious Lisa.

This wasn't an overreaction, he knew what desperation personified was capable of and he wanted absolutely no part in it, not if it involved such violence and disorder; though he despised the way the rules had him in a tangle and strain there was no way that he was going to go against a force he knew he could never win against. His active angst would only lead to trouble and injuries. A quiet evening in the apartment was not dull enough to risk never experiencing again for just one night of exciting disaster, so he pulled his phone out to beckon a taxi for them to move along even faster. There was no taking chances.

Small ticks were heard close by, and him and Lisa glanced around curiously then towards each other, utterly puzzled. Matt had his finger on the number two but ceased the effort to call in this bizarre happening. He heard a chime from a dropping, then another.
Then another.
Again.
Again by his feet, but he only spotted a penny.

He then noticed all around his and his girlfriend's feet scattered coins, about five of them, only making the enigma more confusing.

"Ow,"
Lisa gasped, then rubbed the top of her head at the new arrival of a sore spot.

She was in the process of looking up when Matt told her to keep her head down so she wouldn't get hit in the face by any other coins, while ignoring his own orders and glaring towards the blinding midday sky to discover the source of the deciding waterfall of copper and silver. The diner was the first floor of a five story building, and the four floors above were private residence apartments. They were cheaper ones for this side of town and in huge contrast to the one he and Lisa lived at; this vicinity's exterior was coated in aged red brick that looked to be around a decade and a half old. He had always remembered this being what it currently was.
His sight against the burning beyond, on what he could guess to be the third floor, he spotted the shadow of a tiny body hanging halfway out of an open window, and his small five fingers moving around slowly like a kaleidoscope to produce a cascading shimmer of what was sure to be costly beauty. Once Matt's vision adjusted he could make out the facial expression of the kid's grin as he continued allowing currency to slip past his baby fat grips.

Suddenly a larger overcast of another being came over that of the child and their bigger arms held out what appeared to be a jar full of those coins and his eyes widened. Right before it was dropped, he pushed Lisa away and went along with her, and a split hair later it collided with the concrete in a pointed and daggered demise to create a dangerous, prohibited hot-spot for anyone walking around barefoot.

Lisa sighed thankfully to be silenced by the louder victory cries of the protesters who saw it all unfold and approved full-heartily to the introduction of a new suggestion to rioting but definitely not built by the horrified couple who would give up all the money they had just to be in bed, safe. They would not submit into the ranks of borderline savagery that was merely missing fire power and would not stick around to see such dominance fall into such miserable, greedy, desperate palms.

The crowd was growing into one massive brutal community that was ready to, in adolescent terms, fuck shit up. Matt and Lisa were familiar with this phrase in the mildest sense when at a pre-drunken party, a friend's metal show, or any instance when mental and/or physical thrashing was involved, never had they been introduced to this extreme however.

Too bad for them, things were already on the path of destruction.

More people were flooding the already busy downtown street to cramp like sardines in a congregation of anger; the asphalt shriveled up under the dozens among dozens of feet stomping it to death and the close atmosphere deafened by the shouts that turned to screams that turned to shrieks. Lisa's eyes fell out of their sockets as a group of guys around her and Matt's age stood on one side of an expensive car and heaved and heaved until the silver beauty's tires slowly rose from the road, then abruptly fell on its side with a devastating crack.

One of them ran along the other side carrying a gallon of gasoline, pouring it along the tilted passenger door to create a glossy finish that was definitely not the last step. Matt held onto his girlfriend tighter while witnessing the preparation of a soon-to-be automobile barbecue. The diner behind them was being shielded from the scene by the owner who pulled down the curtains from the height of the ceiling although the broken chasm couldn't be covered up.

A man that looked in his mid-twenties in tattered clothing stood out from the others not only by appearance but by standing in the middle of the social circle made around the car on its side; he had an undercut on the right, black hair, and a cigarette dangling between his left fingers. He scanned the crowd before pulling the megaphone in his other hand towards the talking hole in his face.
Everyone got quite in the presence of authority.

"We are tired of working hard only to afford bread and water! We want our money to be worth something again, and we won't stop until it is!"

He was the Hitler of these masses; Ghandi's devil inside that had been repressed by the steel necessity to remain good and in peace now clawing its way to the open wound of such hurt and betrayal. The eyes of the citizens gathered around were filled with angry suffering, and when the torn-dressed messiah with the strange hairstyle flicked his lit cigarette towards the doused car, it caught hungry fire and illuminated the perimeter brightly.

That's when the crowd dispersed in chaos.

Running around in rage, Matt and Lisa were merely speed bumps as they were pushed around roughly or mowed down by careless rioters who approached the bonfire to light their money on fire, screaming so loudly you'd think they were pushed into the inferno. Dark smoke was rising beyond the tops of buildings, polluting the sweet sky where it also spread to the breathing holes of the people, then the eyes watered. Lisa coughed pathetically.

Matt heaved themselves out of there through the density of beings until a miraculous open area remained a couple feet away to serve for resting and terrified awe of what was going on around them: barbaric disorder.

Familiar faces they had seen around the town were committing heinous acts to the men whose job it was to protect them -the police men who ensured that their children were never harmed and robbers, murderers, rapists, and any other type of criminal would keep their distance. They had all been possessed by the difficult adjustment of their money now deemed worthless, and as the men in blue tried to stop their violence, it was only then directed towards them.

People had beaten down the police with the nightsticks taken from their pockets who were sadly and desperately trying to use their arms as shields, causing Lisa to bury her face into Matt's chest as he stared in horror and gulped. Their hearts were racing to the beat of disaster, to the beat of jars of coins thrown and more fires sprouting by the simple ignition of a match or lighter, to the fights that were breaking out in every other area of the street that evolved to one massive brawl. Men were pushing around any skin in their aura, including the skin of Lisa, and Matt shoved any guy who merely touched her by accident two times worse so they knew he meant business and not to fuck around.

"Let's get out of here please! I'm begging you! I'm scared and I just want to go home!"

He looked down at his teary-eyed girlfriend miserably; thoroughly; regretfully. He had exposed them to these travesties and was not doing much about it. Truth was, he was equally as afraid yet clueless of what to do. If they tried to walk away from it someone could have attacked them on the outskirts, and staying motionless in the riot meant the same and worse. They had to get out, they had to get home, but he was petrified.

Examining for any flawed pathway through, he laid eyes on one man that stood out from the rest -a man standing still on a community mailbox, in his hands a poster board that read in black sharpie: "I am worth more than the money that my job pays me."

This was when Matthew Godfrey knew that this was the voice of the town, that this was the root of its problem: insecurity. Sure, people were mad that the economy was being flushed down the tubes, but what dug at the core of each individual's existence was that they were going down with it; no one was special or immune from society's downs, and it was a slap in the face via realization.

They all felt worthless, they all felt used, they all felt betrayed, and that's what got to them.

The chaos around the couple continued and knew that they had to calculate the safest exit, which at the moment looked to be the bold approach of just walking right through it. Swipe past the punches and uncontrollable body movements then be homeward bound. They passed maniacs like passing along on a plank where it was guaranteed for them to fall into an ocean of snapping crocodiles as opposed to griping pirates. He covered her as much as he could while still weaving through quickly, and into the pit of madness, growing fear and anxiety towards such mutations of violence and wasters. There was yelling about anarchy, more posters that red bold statements like "Stop Robbing Me", "This Poster Board Costs Half My Paycheck" or "I Want A Refund".
Those were the most creative while others stabbed straight to the heart demanding for things to go back to normal and for their thin-clothed currency to be worth what it had been established as.

On a street (best while the pulse of human life has died) there is the phenomena of a warped atmosphere from the excess of heat and distance of bare road. A mirage of sorts, and in the heat-induced dream was a scene of black suited men with plastic shields to cover the majority of their muscular bodies, marching steadily to the disorder. Matt knew right away that he was staring down at the SWAT team in full uniform, taking action immediately by blocking the width of the street and moving. They just kept moving.

"if ants were human sized..." was going through his head as they approached. Lisa's hand went limp as she caught the sight while everyone else seemed to cheer. Under pressure and suffering from an internal freak out, he pulled out his phone and dialed the number for the cab company, which returned a busy signal. Matt cursed aloud, stuffing his useless technology back into his pocket.

"What, there was no answer?"

He glanced disappointed at his girlfriend and shook his head.

"No, I just got a busy signal. We'd have to walk home-"

"But the SWAT team is here! We can't just walk!"

"Well it wouldn't have worked with a cab either, so what else can we do?!"

Matt started shouting back not only in frustration but to be heard through all the other noise circling them. The air smelled of sulfur and that rotten stench of money when brought to your nostrils, the musty and germ-deep scent that stayed with you for half a minute after tearing it away from your face. It was thick now, and lucky SWAT team members had on gas masks so the full effect wouldn't meet them. It was a self-made oven containing oppressed members that would burn to the ground if they didn't know what they were doing.

That was why the SWAT team was there in the first place: to control the situation and stray away from ultimate disaster.

Unfortunately it is never seen that way, and instead, the townspeople were glaring in the direction of the "party poopers";constructing in their minds the perfect planning methods to distract and repel such authority. As though it all created stable logic, all the people around Matt and Lisa ceased their pin-balled actions to cohere as one; to unite. Then the two parties were standing still like a massive gun fight, or even a good-old western duel. Except the only tumbleweeds sweeping across dirt was money sweeping across the street, and there were no guns here, there were only fists and nightsticks to settle an argument like this.

And then a collision began.

The cowardice couple were located in the back when it all happened so fast, not expecting a force like that to come upon them. It knocked the phone that Matt had out again to try to please Lisa by calling the cab company again to fall right out of his hand, along with the wallet he absentmindedly grabbed along with it, gravity taking its hold and swiping it down to the road.

Crouching down to retrieve his things, Matt was then kneed in the face by a SWAT team member, who then continued on breaking up the cluster-fuck of fights that had spurted in seconds. He flew back and almost hit his head against the asphalt, and soon, blood was pouring from his broken nose. Lisa screamed. He tried to get up but was only able to rest on his left arm, leaning over to the side. There were bills directly below his profile that were being drowned in the crimson that was coming out of his nostrils and he made no effort to try to stop it. He was still in shock.

These were his saviors.
These were his heroes.
They hit him in the face.

Sure, it was chaotic, and sure, maybe they mistook him for attempting to pick up a weapon or something of the sort. Maybe money was the weapon and maybe he was the one behind the trigger. They were all in control -money creates greed, and greed carries onto destruction, and what was around him? Utter and unfathomable chaos. It took that force to the face to realize that he was an animal like everyone around him who had already seen the light, and though money was the root to all evil...they were all evil.

His mind filled with thoughts and stresses he had experienced within the past couple of months as life had been going downhill and currency's value kept shrinking and shrinking until a paycheck meant absolutely nothing. He would never adjust to that lifestyle and here was his chance to let all his anger out. How he thought about allowing it to pass by and to cower in his apartment that he would be gathering coins for to keep producing rent; he knew that was no way to live and he wouldn't have a part in it without standing up for himself.

This was the same voice that wanted to beat the ass of the SWAT guy who kneed him that was going through the epiphany of defense and independence, but hey, it was still just as genuine.

He had been destined to be stuck in this tabooed fight club and he was a first timer. He had to fight. Scraping up the rest of his dignity, he used the back of his hand to wipe his nose halfway clean from a mess of blood and rose from the ground. Lisa was right there behind him to help him up, and once on his feet, he faced her.

"Go find a place to hide and stay there. Don't move until I call you or something, alright?"

Her expression fell even more. Matt was on the verge of running off when she grasped his upper arm within her hand, keeping him planted to the spot.

"Why? Where are you going?"

"Just...just do as I say, ok? Now go!"

There was no way he could reveal to her the real reason behind his requests; the itching desire that had arrived along with the blood. There was this hunger inside of him that needed to be satisfied and laid at peace in order for him to feel like the man he had always envisioned himself being. He had to stand up for what he believed in.

As Lisa stayed quiet, then suddenly darted to the nearest alley, Matthew Godfrey had independently inducted himself into the ranks of the rebels, then ran off towards the man who had broken his nose. His warm personality had indeed been replaced with one that had been idled in ice.

Chaos can penetrate the fondest of hearts.