Z
Zackymas
Guest
Original poster
Pedro Antonio Rosario - Chase County Courthouse
"What happened?" That question kept running around in Pedro's head. It was like a mouse, hiding whenever he turned to face it. He knew he had to get out somewhere. Now that idea was like the cat. It'd face him, and dare him to even question it, if he were willing to suffer the consequences. His mother had told him something when he was a kid. What was it? It was fleeting.
He'd hit a man. He remembered that. The man retaliated. Something hard. A punch? Or a kick? Pedro couldn't even remember what had hit him. What was he doing? Was he stupid? Just going around starting fights! Like a pendejo. That's what he was. He wasn't a enchinchador, because he got involved. He was a stupid bolsa.
"Mijo cuando e' que tu va a entende' que tu no puede' hace' eso." That's what his mother had said. (Translation: When will you understand you can't just do that?). Pedro had started a fight, and he'd had consequences, he remembered that. "Te gu'taria que te hagan eso? Yo lo dudo mucho. Como tu cree' que se siente ese muchacho? De'pue', te queja de que te tratan mal." (Translation: Would you like others to treat you like that? I doubt it. How do you think that boy feels? Then, you complain that others treat you bad.)
This was a mess. He had to solve it. Pedro remembered trying to restrain the man, so he could perhaps avoid any more damage, but it just went on. He couldn't really do much. He'd fought a lot before, but this guy had more experience. That was obvious.
What else had happened? Pedro was now lying on the ground. The attack that woke him up had been like a truck, he felt something funny around his nose. He checked for any broken bones. The guy'd hit hard, but Pedro had defended alright. Nothing was broken, not even his nose.
He breathed in. He had panicked. He lost his temper, no, he lost his mind. He had to compose himself and get out of there. There was a nuclear blast. It wasn't safe. People ran around him, and many threatened to stomp him, but some godly kept them just away enough from him, perhaps the police.
Pedro tried standing up, but he felt like a wreck. Did he really not have any broken bones? He checked again, no. All muscular then, he'd walk some of it off, he knew, he also knew he wasn't walking anywhere in that condition. "Come on boy, move." He winced and spat as he sat up. Not blood, although it felt like something cut in there. "Move." He stood up, and for a second felt like he was going to fall. He clutched at his side and managed to stand, despite the hoard of people running into him.
He needed some way to get out. Not walking, he knew that much. He needed a ride. He looked around and knew what he'd find. Nothing. It was a small town, most people walked everywhere. From the corner of his eye, he saw metal glint, and the image of a motorcycle imprinted on his eyes. The girl eating noodles was almost an afterthought. Something in the back of his head told him that wasn't right. People aren't an afterthought. If he isn't one, then no one should be.
He limped over to her, thinking of what to say. He'd never seen this woman in his life, he couldn't just ask for a ride. Yet, sure enough, when finally managed to catch his breath and limp and even jump on a leg on occasion, he reached a respectable distance, and said. "Hey," He spat again, and now he thought he saw some blood. "Can I get a ride?"
@MrCalcium
"What happened?" That question kept running around in Pedro's head. It was like a mouse, hiding whenever he turned to face it. He knew he had to get out somewhere. Now that idea was like the cat. It'd face him, and dare him to even question it, if he were willing to suffer the consequences. His mother had told him something when he was a kid. What was it? It was fleeting.
He'd hit a man. He remembered that. The man retaliated. Something hard. A punch? Or a kick? Pedro couldn't even remember what had hit him. What was he doing? Was he stupid? Just going around starting fights! Like a pendejo. That's what he was. He wasn't a enchinchador, because he got involved. He was a stupid bolsa.
"Mijo cuando e' que tu va a entende' que tu no puede' hace' eso." That's what his mother had said. (Translation: When will you understand you can't just do that?). Pedro had started a fight, and he'd had consequences, he remembered that. "Te gu'taria que te hagan eso? Yo lo dudo mucho. Como tu cree' que se siente ese muchacho? De'pue', te queja de que te tratan mal." (Translation: Would you like others to treat you like that? I doubt it. How do you think that boy feels? Then, you complain that others treat you bad.)
This was a mess. He had to solve it. Pedro remembered trying to restrain the man, so he could perhaps avoid any more damage, but it just went on. He couldn't really do much. He'd fought a lot before, but this guy had more experience. That was obvious.
What else had happened? Pedro was now lying on the ground. The attack that woke him up had been like a truck, he felt something funny around his nose. He checked for any broken bones. The guy'd hit hard, but Pedro had defended alright. Nothing was broken, not even his nose.
He breathed in. He had panicked. He lost his temper, no, he lost his mind. He had to compose himself and get out of there. There was a nuclear blast. It wasn't safe. People ran around him, and many threatened to stomp him, but some godly kept them just away enough from him, perhaps the police.
Pedro tried standing up, but he felt like a wreck. Did he really not have any broken bones? He checked again, no. All muscular then, he'd walk some of it off, he knew, he also knew he wasn't walking anywhere in that condition. "Come on boy, move." He winced and spat as he sat up. Not blood, although it felt like something cut in there. "Move." He stood up, and for a second felt like he was going to fall. He clutched at his side and managed to stand, despite the hoard of people running into him.
He needed some way to get out. Not walking, he knew that much. He needed a ride. He looked around and knew what he'd find. Nothing. It was a small town, most people walked everywhere. From the corner of his eye, he saw metal glint, and the image of a motorcycle imprinted on his eyes. The girl eating noodles was almost an afterthought. Something in the back of his head told him that wasn't right. People aren't an afterthought. If he isn't one, then no one should be.
He limped over to her, thinking of what to say. He'd never seen this woman in his life, he couldn't just ask for a ride. Yet, sure enough, when finally managed to catch his breath and limp and even jump on a leg on occasion, he reached a respectable distance, and said. "Hey," He spat again, and now he thought he saw some blood. "Can I get a ride?"
@MrCalcium