He opened his eyes and decided that it was now or never. Lifting the collar of the t shirt he had been wearing all day, the pungent sweat filled his nostrils and he realised that he was well long due for a shower. He raised himself up and every muscle in my body ached, even though he may be immortal the pain was always so bad the next day. Pulling of the shirt he threw it at the corner of the small studio apartment, roughly where his washing pile was, and bang he hears the crash of what was now the samurai sword on the floor once given to him by a ninja teacher named hon shui in 1920s china. He had forgotten it was there.
‘clap, clap’ the light in the room flicks on and he see’s something scutter under the bag of rubbish in the corner of the kitchenette right of the bathroom. “ohh” he moaned, rat traps are last thing he needed to worry about. Raising himself up off the bed he made his way to the bathroom, sliding his hand through warm but greasy hair. Flicking the shower on to hot he gazed at the image that confronts him in the mirror. Haven’t aged a bit since it happened, he thought to himself. His black hair wild and looking dishevelled, greasy to the look not only the touch, hazel eyes with just a touch to wild sea green around the iris, skin light with an olive undertone, his body was perfectly muscled, then again they all were well toned, something else he hadn’t lost.
Looking at his muscular body in the mirror he contemplated all the scars left behind by previous injuries, his immortality didn’t prevent his body from showing the attempts of death. He touched the one on his right shoulder a bar brawl with a sailor in 1940 New York, below his left rib, a mugging in London 1932, a huge claw mark scar just above his heart from a wild wolf in Alaska 1980. He looked down further and noticed the new bruises on his hip bones just above his low rider jeans, and thought thankfully they won’t leave a mark, a couple of scratches on his right arm and a slight gash on his left shoulder, he had got off quite well from last night’s incident. He raised his hand to grab the back of his neck and rolled it down the top of his back, right where is shoulder blades were he could feel the edges of his most important and fateful scars of all, his first scars.
Stepping into the shower the water was hot on his skin, he liked how it soothed his scratches and gashes from last night and made is bruises feel like they were healing quicker, why had he been so stupid to go out last night with Paul, and trying to jump the motorcycle over that bridge, “argh” he hit his hand against the tile in front of him and broke it. Something else to tell the landlord about.
Stepping out of the shower he wrapped a towel around him and sauntered over to the small refrigerator in the apartment, it was small but the buzzing from it was incessant and it had annoyed him on more than one occasion. Opening the door he looked at the contents, a bottle of beer, two week old Chinese takeout, a mouldy half tomato and half a carton of pineapple juice. Grabbing the juice he took a deep long swig. Suddenly his mobile started to buzz. Who was calling him at this time of night, must have been Paul again with another one of his attempts to try and cause trouble for him.
He picked up the phone and answered it with a “yeah” on the line there was silence. “Hello?”, nothing no sound no breathing. “Come on Paul, what do ya want?” he said. Finally the silence broke, “Michael Carmicell?” the voice was low and raspy, and not Paul. “Yeah, who’s this?” Michael responded. “I have come to warn you that they know where you are, who you are, what you are, if you value your life it would be best if you head my warning and get as far away from here as you can” “okay man this ain’t funny, did Paul put you up to this”.
He had never heard the voice before and since he had known Paul pranks were an everyday occurrence, this could have been one in the long list of pranks that he had been on the receiving end of. “You think this is a joke, we know you are Michelangelo and they do too, you need to listen to us if you want to survive…..there are legends telling of your type, why you’re here, and how you came to be. There is girl in small town near Springfield called Reedsport, you will find her, she is the key to what you have be looking for, she is the only one who can end your torment and eventually save you”
Now Michael was the silent one how the hell did this person know who he was and why he was there. “Who the hell are you?” he finally responded. “It is not important who we are just what message we bring, do what we tell you or the others will turn you to ash, go to her, find her release yourself from this prison, now…….go now fallen angel”.