Writing
[This work is a first/rough draft, comments welcome.]
Part 1
The city glows demented hues of pink through the black downpour.
My cough is getting worse.
I bumped into a wino on the street and my ribs are burning, fucker may have given me a damn third-world infection, how he looked.
I swallow a dose of StayAwakes and manage a glance back: the old tail is gone, the new one is there, in the open.
Whoever is following me is NOT a professional team, your typical Hong Kong riff-raff that's for sale down at the grey meat market.
I dive into an alleyway, scream something about an infection in a practiced high-tone and accented voice, then disappear.
Six blocks away, where no one is even aware of the riot developing nearby, I swap disguises and slip into a bar.
Louie's Something Or Other, that's their damn name.
I slip in the back, plant myself in a dark corner booth, and watch the front entrance.
It's a busy night, people are coming and going, but I don't notice anyone looking for an assassin.
I do notice my imaginary twin brother.
Part 2
I had an imaginary twin brother.
I thought everyone did.
My twin imaginary brother was named Sebastian, an obscure counterpart to my own name.
We grew up as poor practically-homeless kids in the slums of Hong Kong, so had to use our imagination for a hell of lot of stuff.
And we watched a lot of TV, of course.
But through all of it, we just had each other.
Seb found an old Soviet Zenith camera somewhere, half a century after the former Union collapsed, an antique even before it was thrown away.
He clicked that thing night and day.
It was a pleasant noise that I always associated with Seb, even in the years after he stopped clicking.
After I grew up and forgot about my imaginary twin.
I stopped believing in him, and he stopped clicking.
But then, he up and walks into this dive bar that I'm hiding out in, and I have to wonder, was it all in my imagination?
Did he just leave me at some point?
Was he kidnapped?
Part 3
Seb smiles as he walks into the bar, says something to a friend, turns his head and calls to someone outside.
He's full of life, full of what some may have called zest, if any of them were still alive.
He's wearing purple colors now, some music outfit from the south, nothing controversial.
He's also wearing the ancient Zenith around his neck, its leather strap is dark and shiny from use, its lens split in three pieces by a large crack.
Seb brings up the camera to his eye, points at the bartender, clicks.
He looks over towards the booth in the dark corner... and I've already moved to the other side of the booth, I'm watching the scene unfold through a reflection in the wall.
"What the fuck", I mutter and down the shot of cheap gut-rot, signal the bartender for another of the same.
I had an imaginary twin brother, when I was a little kid.
I believed in him so much, that I imagined running with him down alleyways, swimming in the river, hanging off the outside of a schooner as its waves lapped our feet.
The click of his camera was a ubiquitous presence, a constant in as much as the rains and the gangs were.
So how the hell did he walk into this bar?
How have I not run into him before?
As a kid, I imagined him, right?
Or... was he my Rain Man?
Did he disappear to somewhere and I pretended that he was "imaginary"?
I watch as his group heads towards the back, an area I passed on the way in, towards the Manager's Officer.
A dive like this, having a Manager's Office, that was my first clue that this was a mob bar.
Then a mountain of a man followed them, took out a machine gun, and started firing into the doorway, even before he entered the office.
Part 4
I jump over one side of the bar and fire off a burst of three rounds, before slamming into a fridge on the opposite side of the bar.
Two round bury themselves in the wall, but one is blocked by a clear shell that surrounds the big man's head.
I can hear the round impacting into the latest ShieldTech.
Of course it is, I expected nothing less.
The gunman stops firing, however, and that's all I was looking for.
He's going looking for me now.
I toss a quick-hit flash-bang, then fling myself over the counter and towards where the gunman should be, and slice with my twin knives.
But he's fast, he's already moved, his guns are up and I'm staring down them.
"Don't make this personal," the gunman says, "just walk away, Jules."
"No can do, man, this is a family matter," I reply.
The gunman hesitates, and that gives me an edge.
I slam the twin knives into the gunman's arms, practically pick him up off the floor.
A flick of the wrist and I turn the guy into a kebab of blood and guts.
His corpse drops onto the floor in many parts.
I look over at Seb.
He smiles at me, and waves.
There's a big hole where his left eye ought to be.
Part 5
"I'm a ghost, you moron!" Seb yells at me.
"Say what now?" I ask, confused.
"Dude... Shit got repressed, eh?"
Seb rubbed his face, as if exhausted.
"OK, look, there were two of us, right?
Two baby boys, Jules and Sebastian, born in the slums of Hong Kong.
Miracle that you survived, expected that I died.
I died, but nobody came to get me for a while, nobody showed up to take the boy away, so I stayed, grew up with you.
You saw me, because you were a kid, and kids can still the weird shit in this world."
I look around and I'm seated in a booth.
The rest of the bar is empty, the gunman scared off everyone.
The cops are on their way, probably.
Right now it's just the two of us, Jules and Sebastian.
"So how can I see you now?" I ask him.
The light keeps going on and off, kinda like a strobe-light.
Or is that just me?
"You can see me now, dear brother, because you're dying," Seb says sadly and sits down opposite me.
Part 6
"I'm dying?" I ask, incredulous.
Seb raises his eyebrows and points at a spot on my right, my still-burning ribs.
Where that wino bumped into me.
I reach over and it feels cold.
My hand comes up to my eyes, but it doesn't feel like I'm controlling it.
There's something black over my hand, something dark and shiny.
Blood.
And my vision has shifted to black and white.
I know what happens next.
I hear the beat of her wings.
My goddess is here.
Seb stands up, meets the newcomer, exchanges some words.
I feel the burning gaze of attention as something indescribable looks over me.
She nods, Seb hands over a roll of film, slips a new one into his Zenith.
He snaps a photo of me, then walks out of the bar.
In my imagination, I am an assassin in red velvet, a man bleeding out in a tavern, in front of a roaring fire.
I want to follow him, but I know my story ends here.
My goddess walks up to me, touches my side, whispers "Not yet", and she is off.
A cop shakes me awake.
"Hey, buddy, you OK?
Careful, don't move, we've got medics on the way.
Wow, lucky you were here, eh?"