Consequences

"You Fat Fuck!"

The youths screams of abuse were beginning to be repetitive now but never one to worry about such irrelevancies as style he didn't care. Drawing back his heavy boot the red laces offsetting the scarlet splashes that glistened wetly on their shining black leather.

The man, more resembling a quivering mess of bruised and bloodied flesh than a person sobbed quietly to himself curled into a ball in the vain hop of protecting his more vulnerable areas.

There was a pause as the youth stepped back to review his handy work. The soft sound of cars passing in the distance seeped into the clearing.

Time seemed to hold the moment in a gentle hand, spinning it out so that each of the participants could fully appreciate his role. One slightly lost in memories of another day, the other floating in a sea of sensation unable to feel anything except pain. Then she released it.

"I know what you did." He spoke with a calm that belied the previous rage. A pause.
"He left a note you see. I bet you were relieved when there was nothing found." Another, slightly longer pause.

"Did you see the photos? Of course not, the can't publish that shit can they?"
There was a gurgling attempt at reply.

The youth crouched next to his victim, confident of his physical superiority. In the stillness he listened to a drawn out, painful reply.

The youth stood again and chucked without humour.
"How convenient for you if I believed that. I know it was true, he wasn't like that." A pause.
"I think it only fitting that you share in his pain before you join him."

"Of course, I'm not that sort of person either."
The youth continued watching dispassionately as his victim struggled to crawl to safety.
"No, I'm going to have to find something to use." Another pause.
"How about that branch?" the causal question was accompanied by the snick of a flick knife, and the frantic scrabbling of the condemned.