Nick stumbled through the chaotic streets, barely able to see but firmly convinced he needed to be…elsewhere…and now. What the hell had he been thinking in coming out here in the first place? There were cops..cops dammit…in full riot gear and they had launched enough tear gas grenades to take down half the freakin’ city! What had possessed him to be hanging out with a bunch of unwashed, patchouli-smellin’ dillholes protesting for animal rights of all freakin’ things? He liked eating meat…inch-thick steaks dripping their own blood….pork chops in gravy made from the drippings…if it was treated fairly or nicely was no damned concern of his, right?
Eyes red-rimmed and tearing, he made it far enough away from the havoc to slump down against a grimy wall and catch his breath. One phone call…one phone call was all it would take and he could be out of this mess. By this time tomorrow, he’d be on a beach somewhere, drinking mojitos and getting serviced by some island babe. Was he man enough to swallow his pride and make that call?
He’d rebelled against all he was and that was hard to come back from. Born the trust-fund baby of one of the preeminent industrial magnates of the century, he’d never lacked for anything. And yet, he’d thrown it all away over some…hippie bitch. Sunshine was all of the things he wasn’t and, for that reason, she was irresistible. She was simple and earthy. She was enlightened and committed. She had her beliefs and her causes and her movements.
He had cars and cash. He had parties and events. He had an unrestrained desire for all things monetary and consumable and exploitable. And now, only now, was he beginning to realize how very, very much he missed all of that.
He liked not giving a damn about the fate of the world. He reveled in the fact he didn’t know where Micronesia was or even care whether people there were dying of diseases he’d never have even the remotest risk of contracting. No, he’d tried sowing his wild oats…tried having his youthful indiscretions…tried experiencing his rebellious phase and he was freakin’ done with all that.
Rising painfully to his feet, he faced back in the general direction he’d last seen his lady love, rolling on the ground like an animal, bawling and puking and calling his name as he did his level best to get the fuck out of Dodge.
Cupping his hands around his dry lips, he howled into the night, “Hey, Sunshine! Peace out, bitch, and I’m goin’ home. I don’t love you…I never loved you and I never will love you. I don’t give a shit about baby pandas or genocide or greenhouse gases! I’m goin’ back where I belong and you can stay out here fightin’ the good fight until you’re welfare-drawin’ ass is old and gray. Enjoy your so-called life cause I sure as hell am goin’ back to enjoyin’ mine!”
His throat raw and burning from the effort, he spat red-tinged bile from his mouth and started looking around for a payphone. Time to get back to the business of leisure.
This story was written for the weekly Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge and is loosely based on the song: Red Eyes and Tears by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.