Historical Fiction

Charles Bronson

    Walking down a the narrow street of eastern london, my breath feels heavier than usual. Im not sick or afraid but rather excited. You see the pain in your knuckles from beating your opponents face, cutting his face up so bad you can barely recognize who he is, brings thrill, rush and excitement. Getting cut or a broken rib only adds to the thrill. I had finally reached the end of the street, Johnny had told me to turn left and go past the Chinese Fish Market. I had lived most of my life in Northern Europe and basically spent my twenties in prison, now I'm thirty one and making shit money robbing and fighting. Dont get me wrong I fucking love this shit. Personally I thought prison was fucking great, it was an opportunity and place where my thoughts and ideas could roam wild. Having to suffer these loud cars and crying babies on the street. Thoughts can't even make it out of the factory. Ah bloody hell, what I had to deal with prison guards in the loony bin I think I can deal with people screaming at the top of their lungs trying to make people buy their overpriced apples that taste like shit. They thought I was crazy people screaming to the top of their lungs and old people asking for money. I reminds me a little of prison inmates pleading and screaming their innocence.” HAHAHAHAHAHA”, I can only imagine what people are thinking of me. Walking around in a tank top with sun glasses in mid january. Rubbing my hand against the wall I can feel the creases and the dents between each brick. My fingers run up and down against the wall trying to find the biggest pump without looking at the wall. Using only but my sensory sense. One step after the other I hadn't realized it but I was at the end of the street. I turned left and made my way through Downing street. People freezing layering clothing one piece after the other. I found that very amusing for some reason it reminded me of a Michelin Man. Stepping on the hard concert with my converse that had been sitting in a bin for about fourteen years felt tighter and and worn out, I could feel every rock as if I was walking bare foot. I had just steped into the market, London had been doing good for itself people were walking in and out of stores and women looking at me in disgust I chuckled as I kept walking. The people made me feel sick. A man in one particular store wouldn't stop staring. Sitting outside of his store hands crossed and an apron placed under his arms. I decided to blow of some steam off and scream “What the fuck are you looking at”. “AHAHAH”. Fuck Fuck Fuck!!

I had made it to the last store I turned a right and I was in paradise. Old people looking for treasure in buckets of opportunities. Michelin women asking for money. I stood for a second to take in the beauty. My face would act on its ownand soon I had a grin on my face stretching from ear to ear. The smell of fresh gasoline painted my head with the different colors of spilled gasoline makes in the streets. I loved all of it, from the rusted pipes to the coal staind bricks. After a good chuckle I began walking again Singing my arms as if I wear a character from those Chaplin films. boy was he funny. I reached the street the bar would be on. I walked a block or to befor my heart began to pound again and my stomach felt like it was ten steps behind me. My mind once again was speeding up and creating images of my destroying his face in. “HAHAHAHA”

Every other step there were cracks on the street. Weeds had been growing next to the wall. I could see the Irish looking pub from a couple of streets down and my feet began to walk at a faster pace. befor I knew it I was walking on homecoming traffic Cars began to swerve and pull over A man pulled over and got out of his car and before he could say anything I turned around and started heading towards his car. “FUCK YOU” that was enough to keep him in his car in utter awe. As I kept walking I stepped back onto the street and began to make my way to the back of the bar. “Charlie You're late”

“Fuck You”. “Ya ya, Just make sure you fucking make my money”. I walked into the bathroom took my shirt of along with my glasses. I looked into the mirror. “WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING LOOKING AT”. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” I banged my head against the mirror and pulled the door open. Walking In the hallway I could hear the announcer promoting the fight. I. “And in this corner the the Mean English Charles Bronson”.