The Ring of Two

The Ring of Two

A Story by Michael Huffam
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A story of a boy who's dark side is revealed from a mysterious object.

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The city of New York can be a place for many opportunities. Some people find their future; some people find their true love. Some people have a career; some people find a chance at a new life. For young Mitchell Wyatt, the city of New York was just a hellhole for him. Living in the dangerous part of Hell’s Kitchen has not always been easy for him, but he learned to keep his nose out of trouble. Every time a mugging or crime was happening in front of him, he just put his head down, and looked straight at his feet.

 

“Wake up, kid! Time to leave us alone!” is what Mitchell heard from his 24/7 drunk of a father every morning. Mitchell would drag himself out of bed everyday and put on some clothes he couldn’t tell were either washed with soap or cologne was sprayed on to it. He exits his room and entered the kitchen, where the air was filled with cigarette smoke and alcohol. His mother was sitting in the kitchen, smoking her 5th cigarette of the day and tugging up the clothing that is too revealing for a middle aged woman.

 

“Go make something for yourself, you worthless thrash,” said Mitchell’s mother, not even looking at him. He grabbed out frozen waffles and cooked them in the toaster. His father burped and yelled to Mitchell “Get me another beer!”

 

Why don’t you get it yourself, you filthy piece of crap!” is what Mitchell wanted to say, but he didn’t want to get a black eye before he gets to school. So he grabbed the beer out of the fridge and gave it to his father. His father took the beer out of Mitchell’s hands, took a sip, and spat the beer back in his face.

“This beer is warm! Get me a cold one idiot!” hissed Mitchell’s father.

 

Mitchell just stood there his eyes blank; his hands curled into fists, simply nodded and went to get his father another beer.

 

He finished his breakfast waved goodbye to his mother and father, but instead of waving goodbye and saying, “Have a good day!” they simply grunted and continued to watch T.V.

 

Mitchell got outside of his apartment building, and checked his left pocket, he felt a cold metal object and grasped it, pulled it out a tiny bit, and saw it was his tazer. He let out a breath of relief, knowing he can defend himself if he gets in any trouble. He was walking down the street and saw many foul souls ready to wreak danger into the streets. Drug dealers, muggers, hookers, all these people started showing up when Brooklyn started buffing up law enforcement. Mitchell has been very lucky that he hasn’t been part of any of these sinful deeds these people do.

 

Mitchell made it school peacefully without anyone asking if he wanted to hit or if he “Wanted to party”. Mitchell’s day at school is just as bad as living with his parents. He goes through the hall with people pushing him knocking down his books, saying “Watch where you’re going, freak!” or “Oops, sorry about that stupid!” Every time he was bumped or his books knocked down or yelled at, he just looked down silently and picked up his books or continues to walk down the hall. Even his teachers treat him unkindly. Whenever one of his classmates would cause trouble behind the teacher’s back, they would somehow frame it on Mitchell and the teacher would send him to the principle’s office and get detention.

 

Luckily today everything was better than usual. Not fantastic, but better. He got his Backpack of books and was walking home until a gang of boys stopped him in his tracks. “Hey crap face, what’s new?” said the boy in front of him. The boy who was talking to Mitchell was much taller than him, so he was looking straight at his chest, as if he was deaf and didn’t hear what the boy said and totally invisible to him. He walked around the gang of boys and continues to walk home, but the gang followed him.

 

“Where are you going, Wyatt? You in hurry to get the crap kicked out of you by your dad? Or is Mommy gonna make you clean the laundry?” said the boy.

 

“If you excuse me Tommy, I believe I have some homework to do,” said Mitchell turning to the boy known as Tommy as he was walking. Mitchell then tripped on the curb and knocked down a wooden platform that had a man painting the building. The platform fell on Tommy, with paint splashing down all over his head. The whole gang was in awe at what happen to Tommy, while Tommy stood there, silent as owl in the late morning. He wiped the white paint off of his face, revealing his eye flaring with anger.

 

“You... are... so dead Wyatt...” he hissed slowly, and then yelled, “Get him!” and the gang of boys, who were bigger and stronger than Mitchell, sprinted toward him.  Mitchell quickly turned away and lurched himself away from the gang of boys. Mitchell may have been smaller than the boys, but he was much faster than them. After a block of being chased by boys who looked as bloodthirsty as a pack of wolves, he quickly turned into a path of alleyways. The boys followed him into the alleyway, barely keeping up with Mitchell. Mitchell turned into another alley way and then with his keen eye and quick mind of escaping, turning into a back alley. He then hugged himself on the wall, praying the boys would past him. After hearing a couple of giant steps going past him, he heard silence. Mitchell slowly glanced into the alleyway; No one was in sight. He walked out into the alleyway, looking over his back seeing if Tommy or his friends were going to pounce at him. While walking in the alleyway a strange light caught his attention.

 

This was a dull color of fuchsia smoke illuminated the area. As he walked through the smoke a building appeared in front of him. It was a shop, but a shop Mitchell has never seen before. The building was made out of a strange oak, it was pitch black and the texture was smooth as metal. He went over to the door, looked above and it showed two dragons, one white and one red, fighting each other vigorously. He clutched onto the knob, which was the head of a reptile, turned the knob and enter inside. As he entered a strange aroma set foot into his nostrils. A Sweet, relaxing scent, almost unreal. He wandered around the shop and saw strange and interesting objects. Shrunken heads, voodoo dolls, and animal parts in tiny jars. He continued to saunter around the shop until a gleam of light shone on the corner of his eye. He went to the area where the shining came from and saw a box of rings for sale. As He examined the rings, seeing them all different, mystical almost each one that would make you think it’s a ring that came from the middle ages.

 

But a certain glow caught Mitchell’s attention in the jewelry box. The glow came from a ring, a ring with a blood red colored stone, smooth a glass. Next to it was a frost blue ring, also as smooth as the other ring.

 

“Ah, the rings of fire and ice. You seem interested in them, young man?”

 

Mitchell looked up, almost off his feet from surprise, and saw a woman who appeared to be the store clerk. She was no ordinary woman. Her skin was the color of caramel, with bracelets on her arm, wrists and could tell there was one on her thigh. Her eyes were colorful, a color Mitchell has not seen before. Her hair was light brown, braided and curly. She was wearing clothes that look colorful quilts and they were wrapping around her.

 

“Um, yes they do seem interesting...” was all Mitchell could say.

 

“There’s an old legend behind these rings, would like to hear?” said the woman, her voice almost hissing.

 

Mitchell nodded. “Well according to legend it was around the time the English came over her to American, and New York was still a green paradise. One English man told my ancestors he would give him great wealth and be treated like royalty. But the English man was greedy and kept all the power to himself. This angered my ancestors and put a curse on the two rings he wore. The next day the English man was arrested for murdering his own partner. He came to my ancestors before the English man was hung and they said ‘The curse I put upon you was the curse of splitting your soul in half, making your evil, greedy to born in the world and do whatever he desires.

 

“So what the legend tells us is that when we wear the two rings your soul is split in half, making the side you never show roam free. So my dear boy, would you like to have them? Or do you think you’ll become two people?” The clerk taunted.

 

Mitchell chuckled softly and said, “Sure, I’ll buy them. How much will it cost?”

 

 

 

Mitchell returned home with two brand new rings, one his ring fingers. It was odd for Mitchell to see himself wearing jewelry. As he walked home he noticed Tommy and his gang of bruisers waiting for something on the other corner of the street. He pulled himself into the shadows, wondering if it was he they were looking for. Luckily he knew another way to get to his house.

 

He made it home safely and walked into his apartment home with his parents grunting at the sight of him home safe and sound. “What no boys beating the crap out of you today? A Pity that is....” said Mitchell father, burping at the last of his words.

 

“Well if your not injured maybe you clean the disposal, it’s stuffed with messy leftovers,” said his mother inhaling a deep breath of smoke through her cigarette.

 

Mitchell let out a soft sigh, and went to the kitchen to clean the sink. As he was cleaning the sink disposal for twenty minutes, his father yelled to him “Boy! Get me another beer! Now!”

 

“A little busy dad, can you get it yourself?” asked Mitchell politely, but heard no response. Instead he heard big steps coming toward him. Mitchell was then pulled away from the sink and was thrust to the fridge. “What did you say to me boy?” hissed his father. “You will do whatever I say you to do!”

 

Mitchell’s father’s backhand smacked Mitchell straight across the face and knocked him down, having a burning pain on his cheek.

 

“Now get me a beer and go straight to your room! PRONTO!” said his father and his mother snickered.

 

Mitchell slowly got up and felt his cheek, blood veiled his face. He probably got a cut from his father’s ring he wore on his hand. He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer and shoved it to his father’s torso, and went to his room, enraged. He shut the door and got out his first aid kit he bought just a few weeks ago. Mitchell was use to this abuse, so every couple of months he bought himself a new first aid kit.

 

He mends his cut and tossed himself onto his bed. He looked at his rings, mesmerized by the great colors they gave out. He looked at his blood red ring, and saw it glimmer in the light.

 

They should be punished Mitchell, they must be punished...

 

Mitchell looked around to see who was talking to him, but no one was in sight. He was exhausted, out of energy. He must have been hearing thing with so much energy drained out of him. He turned out the lights and fell asleep, going into the abyss of sleep.

 

With a cold chill going past him, Mitchell woke up shivering of cold. The fall weather must be coming close, he thought. He went to the bathroom, took a shower, and got dressed. As he walked down the hall, Mitchell paused where he was standing. Something didn’t feel right in his home. First off he didn’t hear the television on, and didn’t smell the fresh smoke coming from his mother’s cigarettes. Slowly he walked down the hall, and went into the kitchen. His mother wasn’t in the kitchen. Every morning Mitchell’s mother comes to the kitchen, drink her cranberry juice and smoke a couple of cigarettes. He looked around the kitchen and found his mother’s pack of cigarettes near the knife stand. One of the knives was missing. He then entered the living room, the lights flickering. Mitchell didn’t know what was going on, but it made him terrified. He looked down at the rug, and it was covered in dark liquid. He walked over to the couch and more of the dark liquid was there. He then saw his father lying on the ground, not moving. He called out for his father but he didn’t reply, not even growl. With the overhead light flickering he could barely see his father. So he went over to the lamp beside him and turned it on, and everything was cleared to him. His father was lying on the ground, his face looking at the ceiling, eyes wide open. He had multiple stab wounds all over his body, mostly at his stomach.

 

He now realized what that dark liquid was: it was blood. He raced over to the phone but as he was about to grab the phone he felt something sticky on the phone he looked at his hand and it was covered in blood. He turned to the phone and flinched at the sight of his mother. She too was also dead, with her throat slit and a cigarette shoved into her mouth. He nearly tripped over the telephone wire from backing away from his shock. Behind he heard a noise behind him, the lights once again flickering on and off.  He turned to see what caused the noise, and saw a hooded figure with crimson red eyes, staring straight at him.

 

Next thing Mitchell knew was his front door being kicked down and police officers yelling their presence. The Hooded figure jumped out of the window in a flash and disappeared into the city. Policemen came into his living room, yelling to put his hands up. He did what they were told and he was pinned to the ground. His parents are dead and now he’s getting arrested. This turned out to be some morning, thought Mitchell.

 

Mitchell was sitting in a cold, damp interrogation room. The light barely illuminated the room, only enough light to shin upon him. There was a large mirror in the room, reflecting the image of his face. He looked into the mirror, even though he knew it was a two-way mirror. He saw his flat boned jaw, his boyish features, and his light brown hair. One thing he noticed something different in his face was his eyes. There were no longer dark brown anymore. They were now a frost blue color, a blue so light it almost looked white, as if his eyes showed purity.

 

Before he can examine his eyes anymore, a man came in the room. From the light he could see he was very bulky, and fit. He was wearing a white dress shirt with his collar unbuttoned and sleeves curled up to his elbows. He’s must have been up all night working on something, Mitchell just didn’t know what. He dropped a file onto the table Mitchell was sitting near. He looked at the file and then looked at the officer blankly.

 

“My name is Detective McSweeny. I work for the fifth precinct police department. You must be Mitchell Wyatt. You’re in a lot of trouble, kid,” said the man.

 

Mitchell continued to stare at him, but McSweeny continued.

 

“Do you know why you’re down here, Mitchell?”

 

“Because my parents were killed.” Said Mitchell, without any remorse in his voice.

 

“Yes, do have any idea who killed them?”

 

Mitchell slowly shook his head. The Detective sighed, and said “Where were you at the time of 5am and 8am?”

 

“Sleeping” was all Mitchell said.

 

“Do you have anyone to verify that for you?” asked the Detective.

 

Mitchell shook his head. The Detective once again sighed, this time mixed with a groan. He tossed a picture to Mitchell, and the picture showed a bloody knife on the carpet, which also was drenched in blood. Mitchell looked at it closely and saw a white fingerprint on the handle of the knife.

 

“The fingerprint on that knife matches the fingerprint on your very own hand. Can you explain how it got there?” asked the Detective.

 

“I have no idea, sir. I woke up this morning and found them on the floor already dead. Before you guys came in I saw someone in a hooded sweatshirt jumping out of my window. That’s the guy you should be looking for, not keeping me in here!” said Mitchell.

 

The Detective leaned back and Mitchell could have sworn he saw him show a mocking grin and the Detective said “Okay I’ll bite; can you described the guy leaving the scene?”

 

Mitchell looked down at the picture and said, “I didn’t see his face. The only thing I could see was his eyes. They were red, the blood shade red. That’s all I can tell you…”

 

The Detective took back the picture and stacked his files into one pile. He got up from his chair, and walked to the door but before he left the room, he said to Mitchell “A social worker and lawyer will want to be talking to you in a couple of minutes. If I were you, I would try to explain how that fresh fingerprint got on the murder weapon. Have a good one kid,” and left the room.

 

Mitchell put his hands on his head and breathed heavily. How could this happen? He thought. How can my parents be killed if I didn’t hear anything? Who was that guy with the red eyes?

 

Mitchell’s whole world was going out of control, and he had no idea what to do.

 

 

“Hey stop right there! Who are you? You’re not supposed to go�"” was what Mitchell could hear outside his room but the man’s voice was interrupted by a loud bang. After the first bang he heard more and more bangs. The bangs going at once startled him so much he knocked himself out of his chair. He covered his ears to block out the noise. Everything then became silent. He heard footsteps coming toward the door. It was amazing how Mitchell’s hearing became so acute. The footsteps stopped and he heard one more bang, and everything became once again quite.

 

Someone turned the doorknob and entered a hooded figure. Mitchell got up in shock and fear of knowing it was the same hooded figure that killed his parents.

 

YOU,” was all Mitchell could say with a snare. He looked at the figures hands and saw a gun being wielded. Mitchell took a step back and the figure said, “Relax Mitchell I’m not going to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

 

Mitchell was astounded by the voice of the figure. The voice was all too familiar, a voice he hears constantly. A voice he can hear in his head and ears everyday. It was Mitchell’s very own voice.

 

“Why do you sound like me?” asked Mitchell, choking on his words.

 

The figure chuckled and said “Because Mitchell…” the figure revealed himself by taking off his hood. Mitchell almost fell on his knees for what he saw. It was himself. The same face, the same hair, the same voice. The only thing was different was his eyes, which were blood red. “… I am you. But you can call me Mick.”

 

 

“What do you mean you’re me? How can that be?” asked Mitchell, terrified.

 

Mick smirked and said, “Remember those two rings you got? Well did you notice you were only wearing the blue one?” said Mick and looked at Mitchell’s hand. Mitchell put his hand up and Mick was right. There was no longer the blood red ring on his finger anymore. There was just the ice blue ring. He looked at Mick, who was smirking devilishly and held up his right hand, showing Mitchell the blood red ring.

 

“So what the merchant said to me in the shop…” said Mitchell and Mick finished for him. “…was completely true. We were one complete soul, but now we are two. All the anger, rage, and violence you kept inside you, is I. I am the part of you who wants revenge on the people that hurt us, harassed us, and neglect us. Yes, I killed our parents because they deserved it for what they’ve done to us. Now, I’m going to kill Tommy and his friends, then the teachers who brought us to detention for no reason, next the girls who played with our hearts.”

 

Mick walked out of the door and Mitchell followed. Mick was fast for just walking, but Mitchell was able to keep up with him. Mitchell was yelling for Mick, but Mick continued to walk past him to the back door, shooting people who were in his way. Is this what Mitchell has always wanted to? To kill people who ever treated him badly, even if it was simply teasing me? He remember what the merchant said, saying the rings split the soul in half. Mitchell is now pure of heart; having no anger, no rage inside him… merely peace with himself and others.

 

As for Mick, he was the evil that buried deep down inside his heart. Every angry feeling, every bad thought, every violent thing Mitchell has ever wanted to do, is now in the shape of Mitchell with the thirst for blood. Mick made it out of the station in the back alleyway after killing three people and Mitchell caught up to Mick and he yelled, “I won’t let you do this!!!!”

 

Mick stopped in this tracks and turned around to Mitchell, with an eyebrow cocked up. He chuckled and said, “Won’t let me do this? Mitch, I’m doing this for you. I’m doing the things you’ve wanted to do for years! You and I both know how badly we wanted our parents dead since we could think for ourselves! Now I’m going to take care of the person who gives you hell every time you walk the streets!”

 

Mick continued to walk out of the alleyway, but at amazing speed Mitchell came in front of him, fifty yards away, and said “If you want to kill anyone else, you have to go through me.”

 

Mick looked at Mitchell with a blank stare, and then burst into laughter. “Get through you? You got it chump!”

 

Mick put down the gun and sprinted toward Mitchell yelling in rage. Mitchell lurched for Mick his eyes filled with hope of saving the lives of people he shouldn’t be saving. The two collided, fists connected to the other and everything went black.

 

Mitchell woke up in the alleyway, his head screaming of pain. He looked around the alleyway and didn’t see Mick in sight. He punched the ground out of anger. Then after a deep breath, Mitchell just realized something… he punched out of ANGER. He felt the anger once again in his heart. Mitchell looked at his hands and he didn’t see a blood red ring, or an ice blue one. No, instead he saw a dark purple ring reflecting in the light. Mitchell got up and looked at a broken mirror in the alleyway. He noticed his eyes were now the color of his ring. Mitchell merely smile, put up his hood, and walked out of the alleyway, into the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

 

“Hey Wyatt! We still haven’t had our daily ‘talk’!” said a boy behind him and he knew it was Tommy. Mitchell smirked behind his hood and turned around and said “Sorry Tommy, how about we have it now?”

 

And that was the last anyone has heard of Mitchell Wyatt.

© 2010 Michael Huffam


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Reviews

very interesting.
real twisted.
i liked it. :)
good job. n.n


Posted 10 Years Ago



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Added on April 16, 2010
Last Updated on April 16, 2010

Author

Michael Huffam
Michael Huffam

Medway, MA



About
Hi I'm Mike Huffam, aspring writer of fiction. I try to make stories that make it sound and feel like a good blockbuster movie or something, get the reader interest going! I might show you some stuff .. more..

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