One Last Time
Eyes as black as coal, they contain no soul. That is what they say about Russell Strove. His parents died when he was just a babe. With no living family, Russell was sent to an orphanage to live out his childhood. Now at eighteen, he is free to live his life outside of the stained walls of the local orphanage. Many people say with the death of his parents, his humanity died too.
His blonde hair is not pure. It is a dirty blonde corrupted with a tinge of mud-like color. A haunting grin that would put any villain to shame taints his young face. Children know him by name, if not personally, than by the stories and warnings that are passed along from child to child. Adrenalin, a rush, the power of a thrill, that’s all Russell cares about.
For what it is worth, Russell is not poor by any means. Gambling is one of his specialties. When he was the ripe old age of thirteen, he had collected a number of items from his fellow orphans; candy, blankets, beloved toys; you name it, and he probably gambled it away from some sorry kid.  He had mastered all games in the little orphanage. There was no chance of him losing. Even now as an adult, he put his skills to use. He makes his money from pool and cards. Yes, the local bars decline him the privilege to drink, but there is no rule against playing games.
Now on a dark fall night, Russell sets out to quench his thirst for a rush. It’s about one AM. Peeking through the window of a house, Russell sees his target. A thin man lay in bed fast asleep. His brows are furrowed in what might be a bad dream. For whatever reason, Russell didn’t care. All he cared about was sneaking in to steal whatever he could get his hands on.
Russell made his way around to the back of the house. Pulling on the door handle, he found it unlocked.
“Incompetent fool!” Russell thought. That was something else about Mr. Strove.  He had come to think himself as a genius master-mind. Without a doubt he was smart, but a genius he was not. With a stealthy skill Russell began to gather the man’s belonging he fancied for himself. All the rooms in the house had been picked through except the bedroom.
Now, any good thief with common sense would have gotten out of there while he was ahead. Any good thief would know it was too risky to roam in a sleeping bear’s cave, but not Russell. No, that was the exact thing he lived for. As the flow of adrenaline began to pump in his veins, that was all it took. Nothing else mattered to Russell, but stealing something from that room.
Thankfully the door was well-oiled, and the floor boards were not loose or creaky. All seemed to be going as planned. A watch lay on the bed stand, inches away from the sleeping mass engulfed in blankets. The watch is screaming, yelling, and taunting Russell. The excitement of stealing was so great that Russell’s eyes failed to see that the man no longer slept. Instead, the man moved at a turtle-like pace reaching for something under his overstuffed pillow. Fast as lightening, a knife was pulled to the surface. Before Russell could react, a deep gouge was born upon his arm.
Finally, an inner flight or fight sense was released in Russell’s mind, and he chose flight. As quickly as possible, he ran. All the while, he could hear the man scream in outrage!
“Russell Strove, you better run far, and you better run fast! So help me. I’ll have the cops on you before sun up!” The man’s voice rang with anger, but it just made Russell laugh. Once at a safe distance, Russell stopped, ripped off one of his grimy black sleeves, and tied it around his forearm.
“That was a close one.” Russell thought to himself. Blood was soaking into the make shift cotton bandage. Looking at it, Russell knew it could have been worse. His life could have been lost. Even though Russell did not have much to live for, he still had the drive for adrenaline to entertain him.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” He said aloud.
“Next time, I might not get so lucky and get off with just a cut.” With a heavy mind Russell Strove decided to put his thrill seeking days to an end and make an honest man of himself, if he could. Lost in thought, Russell made his way back to the abandoned shack he called home.
Crickets were the only sound heard in the shack. Sleep was playing hide and seek with Russell, and Mr. Strove was not winning. You see, Russell now found he had a problem, an itch he could not scratch. Desire was pulling at Russell, trying ever so hard to draw him out to the rail road tracks to play his favorite game, Chicken.
He tried to contain the dark lust he had for the danger, but the dark side always has a tempting allure. After fighting the urge, Russell gave in.
“Just one last time.” He told himself. In truth he meant it. This would be the last time he put himself in danger’s grasp.
Cold tracks lay under Russell’s feet and an open night sky hung above. The train would be on him now in a matter of minutes. Preparing for the jump, he tensed all the muscles in his body. He knew it was now or never. Russell Strove jumped, but not to safety. A loose piece of track caught hold of his jeans, dragging him down. Not one thought or scream could be formed before the train came smashing into him, destroying the man he once was. He had been right; he had put his life in danger, just one last time.  
    
             
-1,000 words-