A Lack of Crying

His name was something else before it was Evander. It was Latin for "good man," but it was only a name to him, as good as any other. He spent three years in a state prison, waiting to be convicted of a crime that he'd do again. Eventually he kicked and screamed and fought his way towards escape. Realesed, reborn, from the iron womb that detained him.

Evander grew up in Greeneville, Alabama. It was a pleasent town, as he remembered it, but on his return he found a den of sin and depravedy that had he been around for it to slowly creep up on him he'd have been a part of it. Drugs, something not unfamiler to Evander, had currupted the youth of his home, and one examplar of debauchery was to blame; Crystal Meth. Amphedimines. Glass. A dozen or more of the most strung out addicts would ban together, work hard enough to pay rent on a single apartment and buy their vices. They wallowed in their self abhorance. Disgusting, horrible, depraved, damn near beyond salvation. In the heart of the city they screamed warnings, but why listen to ugly, toothless, crazed meth addicts, what do they know?

It was in one of these dens of shame that Evander found himself residing, hiding from the authorities. He'd sling a little to those beyond redemption, but never to those who hadn't yet realised they needed saving. One hot summer afternoon, a tall lanky school-aged girl came to Evander's apartment door. She was strange looking, not pretty, obviously not popular in school, judging by the white t-shirt airbrushed with a wolf howling at the moon so thin you could see her bra underneath.

"Hey, you're that guy what's got the glass, right?" She smiled a nervous grin.

Evander paused a moment, starring at the brown haired youth. He licked the back of his teeth, trying to pull a bit of something he ate out from between them. He stepped back from the entrance, ushering her inside the small unfurnished apartment. A man with a thick matted beard lay on the floor of the kitchenette.

"All this can be yours, young lady," Evander boasted as she stepped inside, "with the loving aid of the friends you make in these years of your life." He closed the door.

She looked around, at a loss for what to say she said, "nice place."

Calmly he stated, "shut up." Evander grinned maliciously as he locked the door. The girl stepped away, she put her hands up in defense, but Evander was quick. He grapped her wrist and swung around behind her. He pulled her arm between her shoulder blades and pushed her on the ground. A dirty shirt on the ground made a quick rope to bind her hands. She was screaming now, but Evander's thick hands muffled her cries.

The man in the kitchennette groaned and threw a shoe at them. His eyes were wide open, glistening with uephoric thought.

Evander dragged her effortlessly toward the open bathroom, where he tied her around the dirty toilet and gagged her with a dirty hand towel he found in the sink. For a long while he sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared at her. Half sad and half angry.

"Are you afraid?" He asked. He didn't care if she nodded yes or no. "I'm afraid too. I'm afraid for everybody who isn't you." Evander leaned forward and carringly pushed the long brown tendrils of hair out of her eyes."You're lucky, you have me to explain things to you. Not everybody has that luxury."

Evander reached into the pockets of his dirty blue jeans and pulled out a box cutter. He opened it, and casually waved it in front of her. "Stick with alcohol, weed, cocaine, and pills, because if you do meth I'll kill you." Evander brought the blade up close to her, he watched her squeel and squirm. "Meth'll make you scandelous. Me, now I'm a bad person, true'nuff, but I've never lost my ideals. Meth is too good, it'll take away the pain and the suffering. That's the problem, the pain and the suffering is when you do your livin'."

Evander put the box cutter in her hand. He got up, and he left. The girl struggled to situate the knife to cut through the t-shirt binds, but eventually succeeded. She pulled the towel from her mouth and ran out the door to the vacant apartment and the locked front door. Evander was standing there, holding the door open for her. He smiled pleasently and said, "after you."

She cautiosly edged up the wall and stepped infront of him long enough to get through the door. The moment she stepped foot on the cement landing and saw the sky painted in dying pastels she ran as fast as her legs could take her, screaming as loud as she could.

Evander smiled, because he knew he'd scared that girl to fucking death, and that's always fun. When the police showed up he was gone.