Breaking Day Ch. 01

This was Edited and Proofread by me. I think I did a lousy job the first time and I hope you forgive me. I'm going story by story and I'll try to fix what I did wrong. I rewrote some parts, added others. My brain got tickled and I thought about adding more chapters to this. I was pretty fresh behind the ears in my younger days and I always thought I'd lie to my readers if I changed something.

I wish you all the best.

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"Good morning!"

"If you just joined us we have reports of massive riots downtown Eisle, streets going towards upper One street has been completely blocked by Police. Reports are coming in of various areas under martial law; in other news we have reports that the army personnel have been alerted and ready to deploy at moment's notice. We go to our EYE in the SKY with Matt Dorman."

Slowly I opened my sleep encrusted eyes as radio blares of another unwarranted riot about some poor good-for-nothing in police uniform shooting a man or men that probably deserve it -- fuck - you talk shit, you get hit. Easy as that. Especially if you talk shit to men with anger issues, with guns.

"Apparently there are attacks on uniformed men and women of our police force, we caution all citizens to refrain from all actions towards them....."

God damn!

Nobody learns their lessons, mindless, angry and depraved of love, puppies in need of some attention, thinking that smacking a police officer that just wanted to see their ID, is that a correct reaction to everything in world that didn't go their way. They probably blame mommy and daddy for not having caviar for dinner.

Turning my head towards the clock I see its 7 in the morning. Turning to my right side a woman's naked body was spread-eagled, sleeping, face covered by her fire red hair. Black lean body offered full view of her private areas, plump breasts rising and falling as the woman breathed in her sleep. This strange creature took my money and decided to have sex with me, while my ugly ass wriggled on top of her until my eventual sexual demise. Had to pop my cherry at some point, being 30 and still a virgin the woman laughed as I explained that she was my first, soon laughter became a strange look of horror for some odd reason.

She winced when I tried to kiss her.

She laughed when she realized I had my first kiss then and there.

So I wanted her to relax, shoot me.

I wanted to have fun and at least let her remember my poor ass in some way, laughing at my expense had no real adverse effect on my eventual performance. I have to be clear, I do not enjoy being made fun off, but I would to anything to make a scared woman relax in my presence, if that means relinquishing a part of my dignity, then so be it, I would gladly offer any amount if it meant that this woman would feel safe in my proximity.

With my clothes on, I stumbled into my kitchen and started preparing breakfast. Hard boiled eggs, tuna from a can and coffee to spruce things up in the morning. Entering the bedroom, breakfast already on the counter top that serves as my dining table, woman that had offered her body for my own personal selfish pleasures woke up with a start looking at me with odd mixture of trepidation and carnal amusement. Her breasts were open, perky and standing amazingly tall in attention. I sat near her and covered her exposed flesh with the linen I used to cover my ugly ass at night.

"Miss Jewel breakfast is ready, you can wash yourself in the bathroom, clean towels are there, and your clothes are in the washer. If you could wait for an hour or so I'll have them cleaned and ready for your use." I smiled as I stood and exited toward the kitchen.

I ate in silence as several minutes passed, Jewel left the bathroom with a towel around her breasts. She sat in front of me and started to eat, "I usually leave before the guy wakes up. You know to avoid all this shit."

My had reached up to calm her down, "I know, I've seen the movies and read several books, your job position avoids any sexual romance. Or did I get the whole thing with Nicole Kidman wrong," she gave me a strange look while she tried to scoop her food with the provided fork.

She shook her head, "Holy shit, talk about being prepared. Why'd you do this? You do realize those things in books and movies are just used to sell them. Nobody acts like that."

I shrugged my shoulders, "I don't really socialize as much as I want. The least I could do is see how I should act."

She scrutinized me for few moments, "It was Julia Roberts, and yes my line of work isn't rosses and unicorns as she portrayed it to be. Most of my clients have this notion that I search for a sugar daddy that would take care of little ol' me," she spoke.

"I assume that you have met clients that have been more than happy to be violent." I postulated my previous observation of her behavior.

She looked at her plate when I heard a loud 'breaking news' voice from the bedroom. Unusually desperate way of saying the words. But what the hell, I thought the past few days weren't exactly normal.

"Hold that thought Miss." I said as I stood up and turned the volume of my TV up.

"Reports are coming in from around the area of One street, as well as streets Plumo and Joious of random attacks on law enforcement that had the street barricaded for purposes as they say 'containing the violence'. For more we go to our EYE in the SKY Mat Dorman. Mat tell us what do you see?!"

Either Mat was inexperienced or he saw a lot of bad stuff, but few seconds of breathtaking visual attacks and mindless violence that played out on TV made me think that he had abandoned his post in the helicopter.

He didn't.

"So far.... I haven't seen law enforcement succeeding in containing these riots, they are escalating and getting worse by each passing moment, and I have to be frank here, but I have seen police officers shoot civilians that tried to rush the barricade. I... I can't explain what happened, I must be crazy because they just kept going and going. Please if you are near the area STAY INSIDE. BARICADE yourselves and wait for police."

His voice was, scared and desperate. Some people on the TV rose after being shot and started charging at the police who had exited their car by this point. I could clearly see the two policemen shoot everything at them and the people just kept going. The people reached the two men and the image was suddenly cut off to a different view, my city, our city was in flames. Smoke was billowing from random locations. It reminded me of movies. It reminisced me of our civil war. I was a child, a refugee and I remember bits and pieces. But I remember one thing, riots, dead bodies and buildings on fire. I hoped this wasn't it. I really hope this will pass. I closed my eyes and tried to envision a better tomorrow.

My lady friend was gaping at the TV.

"Jewel are you ok?!" I asked my new friend, she was looking at the TV and silently gasping for air.

"No I have friends out there, many girls that I hope have gotten away, what about you?"

"Nah. All of my family on another continent. I came here to find work." I didn't say I spent my last dime on her, I had a plan let's just leave it at that.

"Then you are alone here in this amazing place?" She looked around my apartment.

I sighed. "Yes. I am," every time I see the price tag on my rent I have a small panic attack, appearances, what can I say. Well I continued swallowing my complaints, "I have no romantic connections though, here or back where I came from. I hoped by living in another city I would gain confidence to at least get some training in and fix my lousy body. Remember you laughed when you saw me strip." I smiled.

Looking down her feet she quietly spoke, "We get warned by our older women that work the streets, that whatever you do, you should NEVER laugh when a male strips. We had many girls beaten to a bloody pulp just for smiling at their package. My heart sank when I did that, I had such a good time that I forgot I was a .... Whore."

"Good time?" I almost yelled out, I think she still heard me though.

I tried to smile like those handsome guys on TV, "Hey if it matters I strive to make any woman feel good, I search for perfection regarding that aspect, if she returns the favor is up to her."

God kill me!

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry, you never finished. You even paid money but all I did was pass out," She sounded apologetic.

"I slept fine! I always finish my sleep so I can work in the morning. Regardless, how about we go out and see if any of your sisters are out and about. Maybe they need help." I avoided the topic as fast and far as I could.

I'll be sure to kill myself later on.

Her eyes still looked at me, but she never said anything else. Few minutes passed in silence as person on the TV started explaining how the recent riots are all brought about the global warming and political insecurity around North Korea, the President, European Union, blasted gay frogs and one particular lunatic claimed it was all the effect of a hidden black hole.

Jesus!

People start smoking way too early in the mornings and I'm not talking about the cigars. Nobody wanted to address the crux of the problem. The real essence behind the reason that the riots might have happening right now. I had few philosophical deductions, hypothesis and theories that nobody cared about. How about the recent geological and astrological anomalies that were happening? The media clearly avoided the topic, not even addressing the past week constant tremoring on the neighboring island or the lights that were surrounding the harbor almost every night. My inner monolog ended up silent as Jewel started to exit my bedroom wearing my old clothes.

Good Lord, women don't know how good they look. In anything. Or is it everything. By this point, if my former experience has thought me anything, women have to be dressed in all manner of clothes. Just to test my theory. A good looking woman can't look bad in anything. A theory that deserves further testing.

Simple sweat pants and a T-shirt that revealed her plump and perky tits. I hope my visual observation can bring someone joy. I keep telling myself these mind monologs need to stop. But, I have no one else to talk to. I had to divert my eyes in search for a new focus of my rekindled passion towards this woman.

My hands were itching. I hoped a repeat of our former exercise. Maybe I could improve. Practice makes perfect.

"I'll pick up my old ones when they are done washing. Until then let's go out for a walk, maybe we find out what exactly is happening," she smiled and her shoulders moved in such a way that her tits were swaying.

Like a gentle breeze. Who am I kidding? Poets tried to put to a paper a woman's good looks and failed to succeed. Most men, smart men, you know the ones that have their IQ in triple digits, would have a hard time putting to words how a woman's breasts jiggle. I mean, you just have to be there to see it. I just have no words.

People, women, think men are dogs that always think about sex. We are. What breathing man wouldn't think bedding a good looking woman? Call me a sexist, but it's part of nature.

While I was busy with my silent monologue and dissertation of the nature of men and their love of jiggling flesh, she addressed me, "Are you listening?"

"No sorry, I was away. Did you say something?"

She shook her head and smiled, "I could tell. I was just saying my friends are just 20 minutes away by car. We could go downtown to see if they are alright. All this violence have me worried. A lot of bad guys are around."

I nodded, thinking the path we could take, "Alright, we'll take my car and see what can be done."

She nodded and I prepared my bag I carry with me almost always. I was a scout back in my country. I know, awesome. But kids and grownups think it was ok to throw eggs, rocks and whatever else when you sell cookies on your front lawn. Scouting did nothing for me, but give me small mental problems.

I sighed. I always had a tiny panic attack when I prepared to exit my home.

I locked my door behind us while we started walking towards my car.

A 20-minute ride to the One Street, making twist and turns only a seasoned runner would know, parking in what it seemed abandoned parking lot and resuming the rest of the way on foot. Yes, I run. I try at least. I sweat like a pig while doing it and feel everyone watching me. It's really, really uncomfortable. I have to man up, really. It'll happen one of these days.

I say this with the outmost respect. People don't know how good they have it when they constantly live in these pristine cities. Not a pothole in sight. Sure there are few. Between my home and where I was going there were 2 potholes. I counted. And this city's residents are complaining constantly on those two, saying all kinds of shit. My old town was pothole centrum of the universe. I often joked as my dad would drive over them. Ruining the suspension of four of his cars. I mean, Afghanistan didn't have the holes that we had. Big, bouncy and hard to miss.

We have a running joke, whenever we don't hit a pothole, "You need to turn back, you missed one," we'd laugh and laugh, not realizing it was slowly eroding our psyche.

But I get it. Give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile. You need to react early.

Soon we were in middle of the street; people running past us dirty, bloodied and wounded with expressions on their faces that showed their utter terror and defeat. Shock was painted in their every stride while they mindlessly searched for their presumed destination. I gasped as one woman walked past me bloodied, beaten and dragging her handbag behind her. Her eyes looked scary.

We heard shots and screams coming from around the area. Where were they coming from? Both my date and I were reluctant to search and find out, I'm not proud of this fact, but pictures on TV videos did not portray the real terror. Seeing people attack and getting attacked was not easy on my stomach. I'm a basement dweller, a keyboard warrior. Not some hero with a cape. Sure I act tough, but I'll tell you now I'm not.

I yipped as she grabbed my arm and squeezed it tight. I'm not sorry of that fact. I'm petrified. I guess a defensive response to violent imagery that we have seen in the past few minutes. I guess seasoned veterans of various wars would enjoy this feeling, but I was scared silly, every loud noise that occurred in area made me jump out of my shoes. I must say holding a woman's hand and acting like a pussy is not something anyone wants to do but here I was. Doing it. Only reason why I was not running towards my car and out of this god forsaken place is the woman had my hand in hers. I guess she figured it out, hold me in place and make me stay.

Clever.

Say what you will, but women are smart. They sense things. They are aware of things us men don't even see. Hence, my hand in hers. She knows. She smelled my fear.

I've red countless books on heroes and damsel in distress. What else could I do? Remember, no friends or socializing skills. Chivalry had rules. Books spoke of it. Damned things. And unwritten laws on chivalry required I stay beside her and defend her from everything. Including fear itself. Fuck.

I'm fucked aren't I?

Who's going to protect me?

I guess having a dick qualifies me for war. Especially in these types of situations.

I know. I know. White knights and all that, this day in age everything was viewed with a hint of sarcastic humor. If you were one, you are desperate virgin that wanted sex. IF you weren't one then you are an asshole that supported racists and their view on the world.

Doomed if you do. Doomed if you don't. I know I'm picking and choosing, especially thinking, but what else can I do. I tell you what I CAN do. Shake of the hand, push her down and start running towards the car. Ignore her cries and yells for help. But my mind is in resistance about that sort of thing. I know what awaits me when I return. I'll have sleepless nights, excessive vomiting and her on my soul. And I don't want it.

I hold her hand tighter to reiterate that I'm not going anywhere, "I'm not going anywhere," I say.

GOD KILL ME.

I just do what I want. Not caring about what people might think, post or say about my own actions towards the 'weaker' sex, but still I had viewed everything with certain dose of trepidation. Reading a lot of books about heroes and their exploits, knights in shining armor getting their damsel in distress, always had me living in sort of fantastic worlds of whatever my imagination could create. A mental barrier from all the truth out there. About me as well.

We were standing on a crossroads. Well on a sidewalk, there were debris and two cars parked on the empty street. Further ahead we saw people running into the open store. The stop lights were blinking yellow. We walked slowly, hand in hand, towards the store and people inside. The silence was heavy in the air. Random shouts and screams echoed in the empty landscape of wreckage. I saw people piling into a small shop. Several of them were busy looking out the other window. They kept whispering among each other.

We came to a loud growling noise from couple of people that stood in the streets. Just standing still and growling. Very strange and menacing. I can't explain it. The voices weren't human. The hairs on my back stood erect.

I crushed her hand tightly, and lead her towards one of the open stores. I stood among other people that watched the display with apparent concern. I was standing still among them. A silent observer of the play before me. A strange sense of foreboding suddenly hit me. I held my friend close to my side as I waited for something to happen.

I hugged her. She hugged me.

I noticed how nicely she smelt. Her scent calmed me. Even while using regular soap, women can smell feminine. I don't know how they do it. But I felt calm.

It reminded me of my aunt. I know strange. She apparently carried me during the civil war while the soldiers beat my mom black and blue. For not having papers. Or money. I know, how dare she. We're just running away from the horde of raving lunatics that killed everything. My grandpas were killed. One a shrapnel to the heart, another taken away and buried in mass grave.

Yet, they were beating her for not remembering to take her papers. How dare she?

Still the scent calmed me. Strange. Such bloody history, yet this scent takes me away and calms me.

I was in a blanket you see. A baby.

A sudden car crash woke me up. It happened on the other side of the road. The people clearly fighting in one of the cars. Over one of them. The guy got out bloodied by the crash and people assailing him from all sides. They wanted his car apparently.

The occupants were wearing tattered clothes. The people who stood still, started waking up with ungodly screams. Their limp limbs dragging behind them they started running towards the man that was trying to leave the second car. Screeching inhumanly. I know it's probably the wrong word to describe what I was hearing, but how do I tell my brain what I was hearing. Pair of banshees? No, that's too vague. The horror a banshee lets you feel is baren, ethereal, but this was real. Screeching penetrated everything. Every one of our bodies felt the ungodly horrors that were running.

The occupants of the other car immediately stopped what they were fighting about. Yelling and screaming, the people jumped one of them and started tearing him limb from limb. Blood, guts and screams ensued from the people that were included in the attack.

Another felt blood of his friend wash over his face. Thick liquid sprayed all over his face. Soon everything was covered in thick red blood, the area started smelling strange. Before a waft of thick urine hit my nose. I almost vomited all over the food in front of me. Others weren't so lucky. Spraying the contents of their stomachs all over the place.