[ WP ] At some point , we are all the villain in somebody 's life .

Marcus sat in the gutter, hands folded, legs folded, with his head between his knees. He half dozed, eyes fluttering open and shut. When a group of people approached, he would raise his head slightly. They would pass him without acknowledgment, and his eyes would drift back to the empty coffee cup at his feet. He would tense his empty stomach and do his best to ignore the pangs of hunger. Then he would start to drift off again, until the next group of affluents exited a pub and made their way down the street. 
 
 After many hours, Marcus realized that sleep would be impossible. He straightened his back, and began counting the cycles of traffic on the corner. Red light, pedestrians walk. The crossing signal began to flash, and then became a solid red hand. The cars in the turning lane went, and then the light turned green, then yellow, and the cycle repeated. Eventually, fewer pedestrians were at the crosswalk, fewer cars waited for the light and then sped through at their first chance. More people left the pubs than went in, and eventually, the pubs began to lock their doors and switch off their lights for the night. 
 
 Marcus had just watched the traffic light progress through a full cycle without anyone, motorist or pedestrian, to use it, when he heard the door open and the laughter of a group of friends as they exited a restaurant. He glanced up the street at them. College aged, maybe. Everyone looked young to Marcus, even those who might have been a few years older than him. 
 
 The party spent a minute or two chatting at the entrance to the restaurant, and then they disbanded into two groups. Three of the women walked in a pack towards Marcus. His head dipped back into his knees. 
 
 Suddenly, a voice from down the street, “ Alright, you two. Good night! ” 
 
 “ Hey, be safe sweetheart. Good night. ” 
 
 Marcus ’ s eyes shot up to see one of the women detach from her posse and continue in his direction while the other two crossed the street. As she strode past him, he sized her up. She wore what Marcus could only assume was an expensive skirt and blouse. Her feet clicked on the pavement in heeled shoes. From the depths of her purse, he heard the jingle of loose change, suggesting that she carried larger denominations of cash. She ignored Marcus and continued alone down the vacant street. 
 
 Marcus reached for his bag and felt through the spare set of clothes and sundry items he carried with him. His fingers closed upon a small knife. The pain in his stomach flared violently for a moment, and then contracted to a point. Marcus stood, palmed the knife and slung the bag over his shoulder. 
 
 The woman made her way through the city streets. Marcus trailed her, perhaps a block behind, waiting for a good window to open. They passed other pedestrians, cars, and as they approached a major motorway, a barrage of sound and people. They crossed the boulevard, and continued into a relatively empty residential neighborhood. Encouraged by their isolation, Marcus increased his pace. The woman glanced behind her. Her steps increased in frequency and she hunched her shoulders, lowering her eyes. Marcus was almost jogging at this point. The woman looked back again, and suddenly darted down a side street. Marcus closed the gap between himself and her. 
 
 As he rounded the corner, he saw her, still trying to get away, but now less than thirty feet from him. Marcus suddenly realized that he had not expected his plan to get this far. None the less, he couldn ’ t back out now. He sprinted towards her, and shouted, “ Hey! Stop! I ’ ve got a knife. ” 
 
 The woman spun around with a terrified look in her eyes. She widened her stance and reached for her purse. 
 
 “ Don ’ t move! Gim me the purse and you can go home without getting hurt, ” Marcus shouted as he brandished the knife. 
 
 The woman hesitated, then began to slide her hand towards the pocket of her purse. 
 
 “ No, just take it off. Put it on the ground. I will fucking kill you if you don ’ t! ” Marcus stepped forward as the woman pulled a can of mace from her purse. 
 
 The knife dropped as Marcus ’ s hands flew to his burning eyes. He let out a guttural scream. The woman took several steps back and cried for help. 
 
 “ Please! Someone call the police. I ’ m being robbed! ” 
 
 Marcus squinted with glazed vision, and saw the purse hanging loosely from her shoulder. 
 
 “ Fucking bitch, cunt, ” he screamed as he lunged for the bag. He grabbed her by the throat with one hand and snatched at the bag with the other. The woman threw her free arm forward, and her fist collided with Marcus ’ s sternum. 
 
 He staggered back, unable to gasp for air. The woman crouched and launched a kick at the side of Marcus ’ s leg. His knee buckled, and his other leg collapsed under his weight. Marcus fell to his knees and looked up, only to see the woman ’ s knuckles fly towards his face. Marcus snapped back and his head landed hard on the concrete. Bright lights filled his vision and the world became… fuzzy. 
 
 Through the daze, he heard the woman muttering, * “ What the fuck? Why? Why would you fucking do that? ” * Her voice stopped, and her steps reverberated in Marcus ’ s mind as she continued down the street. 
 
 Marcus rolled onto his side and gagged on his own blood. He could n't move his left knee, so he pulled his right one to his chest and hugged it. When his breath returned, Marcus began to sob. Sappy, bloody bubbles formed in his nose and throat, and they popped along with the kaleidoscope that seared his eyelids. *Why? Why couldn ’ t she have just given him the fucking bag? * 

