Quintessence of Dust

by KUBOA

  ***

  Once school had finished, John and the Minotaur didn’t see too much of each other. John’s grades assured him a place at a university, far from his home, which meant he had to stay in halls of residence. The Minotaur got a job on a local building site as an hod carrier and general labourer. When John left university, he and the Minotaur rented a small flat together. John received housing benefit, which paid for his share of the rent. The Minotaur paid the rest from doing foreigners. It was great at the start and John enjoyed the company of his old friend. The honeymoon period ended in the third month. Cordial and wistful conversations turned serious, focussing less on fun and more on the practicalities of life. John was getting depressed because he couldn’t find a job and had no money, and the Minotaur was getting annoyed because he was working his fingers to the bone just to keep them both in food and booze.

  One evening the Minotaur took John to a pub on the other side of town to cheer him up. At the end of the night they were outside waiting for a taxi and a man kept looking at John. The man was swaying, eyes wilting under the strain of staying vertical. An attractive woman joined him, and when she passed the Minotaur, he wolf-whistled. The man’s indolent state ignited with rage and he ran like a bull towards John, grabbing hold of his coat and throwing his fist towards his head. The Minotaur appeared and grabbed the man’s fist in time. Unconcerned about the Minotaur’s size, the drunken man turned on him and they both began to fight. John heard the thunderous crack of fist pummelling bone, the tearing of ligaments. John ran into the pub and told the barman to phone the police because someone was going to be killed, but by the time he returned outside, the drunken man had gone, and the Minotaur was sat on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. In the taxi on the way home, John didn’t say a word.

  The next evening John and the Minotaur went out again for a drink. Nothing was said about what had happened, both opting to sit in quiet reflection. John consumed a lot more than usually and towards the end of the night purposely knocked into an older man at the end of the bar. With furrowed brow, John clenched his teeth together and squeezed his fists into tight little balls. He lent his face into the older man’s, goading him to throw a punch, but the older man was not concerned and apologised for bumping into him. John began shoving him, and then a few other people at the bar got involved. The Minotaur came over and grabbed John by the shoulder, apologised to the older man and tried to move John away. But John was adamant he wanted a fight, if not to prove to the Minotaur he could fight, he needed to prove to himself he wasn’t scared. A beer mat struck the Minotaur’s head and from afar a voice called him a freak. For the first time, both John and the Minotaur were united in their rage. The whole scene played out in slow motion; limbs were ripped off torsos like crab claws at a seafood restaurant. Blood sprayed in jets up the walls and across the optics. Carnage lay in their wake, and when they walked back to the house, both the Minotaur and John laughed, replaying every moment as if it was a scene from their favourite film, Star Wars.