Gold Teeth

They say the day he was born, he was exposed to smoke that had touched dante’s lips. Burdened with the ability to lose himself into darkness of thoughts, night and suffering; convulsing and immersing into tragedy and pain whilst fuelled by adrenalin to protect himself and those vulnerable and loved. How do you cope once you stockpile burdens? Most crumble or avoid the responsibility when given a choice, but born into such darkness meant that the lights of difference never existed in his home. He was built like this, but with the weakness to be destroyed, even if not completely; but in moments the pain controlled his romantic side. Vulnerable to his own strengths, the very smoke that he inhaled as a seed wasn’t enough to consume him everyday, but only come out in immense threnody and in losing himself amongst madness where escape seldom beat him.

As he grew into a man, the fable began by the street kids, created by those who had seen the 1% of evil inside him escape. Although transient, it momentarily escaped to burn through him in moments of threatening. The physical layers disguised the eyes of the onlooker-  angel wings he inherited from his mother, and warmth given to him through his upbringing forged an image of normality amongst outsiders. But most knew his abilities. Feeling so heavily for the worlds wounded, consumed like a pill that concentrates his brain to destroy it’s control over his blood. The oxymoron of what fuels his kindness, can eventually break him to react the opposite, lashing out within darkness; an evil that couldn’t be contained once completely engulfed. It led to death.

The rumours spread, the street children told stories, old men claimed to have seen him on the ledge of buildings at night with red eyes. Nobody knew where he was from, but this area was now his home. Few bothered him, but many knew the stories.

Did you hear why his teeth are gold? His parents melted their wedding rings before a robbery, moulding his newly permanent teeth. To bite through fences, rope and chains, it was an act of love to protect him from the various minds that were threatened by heart.

Slicked hair, gold teeth, a satin black jacket that adorned a rose across the back, slightly tattered from overwear. Think streetfighter in the 80’s, stuck in a scene from Bladerunner’s dystopia world, industrial romance and neon lights. Smoke pouring into the streets from below drains, litter floating amongst the breeze, with various poverty stricken groups controlling the resources of whatever areas they could keep from others, and a huge divide between the wealthy and the rest.

If he ever encountered a threat, it was usually calm, and avoided through control. His mothers angel presence controlled his actions, it had the majority of his blood, it kept him hiding his face amongst the smoke. He frequented the neon lit clubs, but drank alone and observed the rest, choosing not to burden others with the lack of control within his devil like moments.

Once inside, he lit a cigarette to further immerse his silhouette amongst the smoke and neon signs behind him, the gold outline of his teeth occasionally catching the reflection. Young girls danced and drank, smiling and enjoying attention the local groups of men were giving them, unknowingly being hunted for one thing.

Sometimes he watched the men stalk and bait their prey, only interested to fuck. How do they do it? Magic and trickery seemed easy, it wasn’t a hard game, but it still worked. Most people were oblivious to the rare hearts, engaged in the people perverted with a quest to conquer a new face, then leave with the dust when the wind picked up.

He exhaled his chest and let smoke pour out of his mouth, glancing through the cloud to catch eyes with a pretty young brunette mere metres away, focusing on whatever her mind longed for. She hesitated to look away, caught in a double take, maybe she saw the red in his eyes? After all, hate and love come from the same part of the brain. Then there was the choice, which to choose? Do you hate this stranger, and want to hurt them for satisfaction? Maybe.

She looked pure, her friends eyes spilled out lines of powdered confidence, but she was vulnerable. Do you give a fuck, or simply want to?

He put the cigarette out against his teeth. The ash made his mouth look on fire with gold. He rinsed his mouth with the ice filled glass, intoxicating himself and turning his mouth cold. He approached the girl, mysteriously silhouetted by the strobe. He could sense her nerves as he approached, she knew he was coming.

Was he ruthless like the rest? She’d heard the stories. 1% of the Devil, would it reveal to her? Or was he under control of the dark cloud that floated above him like an umbrella?

He brushed passed her, looking her in the eye, the music seemed to become foggy and slow as their faces were close enough to kiss, eyes into eyes, moving at the same pace whilst holding contact, both gazing.

He kept walking.

She turned back, confused and suddenly energised like a relaxing rush of blood to her face.

He’d seen enough. He saw inside her brown eyes, he saw what they would do. She would bring it out in him; he couldn’t protect her from the devil inside. She was too pure, like water. He couldn’t live a life protecting her from himself.

He pushed his hands on the door, the entrance filled with streetlights and the moons eye, only for a moment. The mystery man left, once again lost in the shadows and smoke.

She glanced at the door, before turning back to her friends. Another guy approached, he held a drink for her. She smiled, took it out of his hands, and seamlessly started to forget.

Rene Magritte – ‘The Lovers’

C.f