Rafael Ink

I realized in seventh grade that I'd never be human.

Carl Vonderberg had stepped forward, demanding lunch money. Carl had never been especially smart, so he had waited until we had bought our lunches to demand our money. Imagine his rage when he realized there wasn't a penny between us. He postured, he threatened, smearing spaghetti into shirts and our noses in shit. The other children bowed their heads.

I raised mine. I had spent all my life being a good little boy. My mother had coached me extensively, from actions to reactions, a list of particulars that she constantly revised. She was the trainer, I was the beast, and it was her job to keep me at bay. I could never tell whether her eyes were filled with love or fear.

Carl's pig eyes were definitely filled with fear. The fork that had been in my hand was now in his, coating his fat fingers in blood. He opened his mouth and howled.

I didn't give him time for much else. My fist rocketed into his jaw, and then I was on him. A jab, a punch, every blow strengthening my advantage while driving him into the floor. I felt hands wrap around my arms, pulling me up, jerking me to stand. I tried to return to the fight, but it was no use.

So I looked around.

There were no cheers for the hero. No laughter, no clapping, nothing but a terrible silence. They weren't impressed by me, but terrified of me. It's then that I understood what I was. He was dumb and mean, but I was smart and cruel. He would punch, while I would tear. He would bruise, while I would break.

I was a monster more terrible than Carl could ever be. It all made such perfect sense. I still don't know why it took me so long to realize it. A wolf never imagines it's a sheep, so why did I include myself as one of the bleating masses? Maybe that moment of crystal clarity should have left me horrified, even sad.

Instead, I felt elated. I had found my true purpose.

I was a hunter amongst so much prey.


Some good news on the agent fronts, guys. I've got a tentative email or two with just enough interest to leave me excited. Now if it can blossom into something more, hell, you'll see me dancing and singing in the streets. I don't know if I ever felt like I'd finally get to this point.

Now that I'm almost (maybe) there, it feels incredible. There'll be a lot of long waiting ahead, scary silence, and frustrations, I'm sure. But there's a lot of hope there, too.

Fingers crossed.

This story was inspired by my friend Trish. She told me to tell me to tell her a story of Rafael Ink, a roleplaying character that she gave me some years ago. I gave her a brief little blurb and she asked, "Psshaaw, issat it?"

Apparently it wasn't.