< Check out #HollowWin (Part 1)

Dehydrated from the copious amount of alcohol, the boy's father was slow to get up. Once again, he found himself lying next to a dumpster behind a seedy dive, at the mercy of the unrelenting sun. This not being the first instance already said a lot. His back ached from lying in grimy concrete for hours, but he didn't have any energy to move.

He was late for work, but badly needed a change of clothes. Compared to him, the dumpster smelled like a fresh patch of roses. He lived on the other side of the city, but his office was located two blocks from where he was. Without any money, he wasn't provided with a lot of choices.

"Maybe I'll take the day," he muttered to himself. "Yeah, I deserve a break."

"What?" a dumpster-diving homeless man interrupted.

They locked eyes for a second, then the homeless man went back to work.

The boy's father stood up and headed straight for the bar. He motioned for water, to which the barkeep reluctantly obliged. His face drooped and was littered with an uneven stubble.

"Oh, and a beer," he requested. "Put it on my tab."

"No dice," the barkeep replied, as he slammed the glass of water in front of him. "No more beer until you pay your balance, this isn't a charity, y'know."

The man had a rough night. He rested his elbows on the dilapidated countertop, and buried his face on his palms. Trying to recall the events that transpired last night, he rubbed his eyes, dug his fingers on his oily hair, then gulped the water.

He had lost what remained of his life savings in an illegal poker game last night. Even though no one believed him, he was sure that he was cheated. He didn't have any proof, and his perpetual inebriation didn't help with his reliability. Thrown out with no money left, he depended on his tab and drank his sorrow away.

While the barkeep was preoccupied, he reached behind the bar and pilfered a bottle of rum. He snuck it beneath his tattered clothes, and scurried off outside.

It was high noon. He was plastered and badly needed a shower. There was no use in going to work, he'd only be harangued for his tardiness. He took the opportunity to gallivant around the city to clear his head, and to look for an alternate source of funds. Just as he was picking up his pace, he happened upon an all too familiar high-rise. The man stopped and stared at it. It took a while before he came to. He bowed down his head, slid past the security and made his way to the service elevator at the back of the building.

He popped open the bottle, then pushed the button that led to the top floor. Even when he's drunk, he knew his way around the building without being detected. Carefully, he alighted and made his way up the roof. It had been a long time since he did this, but he was relieved that it was just as easy as before.

The air smelled cleaner 50 floors above the ground. He outstretched his arms and took in the blowing breeze. From up there, he could see the whole city. It wasn't the tallest building, but there were no obstructions that prevented a complete panoramic view of the landscape. He unzipped his pants and urinated as he walked across the granite-covered rooftop.

This was supposed to be mine, he thought, while pursing his lips and slowly shaking his head. This whole ... this should be mine.

Years ago, he was an up and coming mogul, who had big dreams and the means to see them through. With his former best friend, the two of them were hailed as prodigies who were set to conquer the world. At least one of them made it, as his former friend's name was etched across the side of the building, and many other buildings in different cities.

He felt bitter at the betrayal, and for years sought to take revenge. At first, he relied on suit after suit. Several cases burned through his bank account, until he realized that he didn't need to go after what his friend had, when it was him who was the brains of the operation. Every idea resulted into failure, and he was forced to apply for corporate jobs to support his growing family. No one hired him because of his high demands. He was forced to take one menial job after another, until that's all he knew. Gone were the groundbreaking ideas and the motivation to change the world. Nowadays, he just struggled to make ends meet.

The man sobbed, as he took a swill. He stood on top of a two-feet high divider which was there to prevent people from falling. In his mind, he had done every thing he could, but it always fell short. He wanted to rise above every terrible situation, but everyone kept pulling him down.

Exhausted, he sat at the edge of the building. This wasn't the first time he had done this either. He would always seek out different points of the city, hoping to find something interesting. Never had the city failed to amaze him — it was always changing, it always had something different every time he stared at it.

The city had gone through several face lifts, recovering from one hard time to another. It was resilient — it needed to be. The city didn't have any other choice. Many times, people always overlooked it as something that's past saving, and yet, it stood the test of time.

The man wished he was more like the city he had grew up in. He always had this sense of entitlement that prevented him from living up to his potential. If the city could bounce back after many failures, why couldn't he? There was a strange calm that came over him upon the realization.

He thought long and hard about his life, how he was the main instrument of his own downfall. All the pain and suffering that he endured was brought upon by none other than himself. He always found reasons to justify his actions.

Tears began to flow down from his eyes. There was a strange sense of clarity despite his inebriation. He wept as he thought about how he neglected his family, and mistreated his wife because of his discontentment. In his mind, he was doing everything for them, but he realized that he was only doing it to take back what he thought was rightfully his.

Determined to make everything right, he brushed off his tears, and poured what remained of the rum over the side of the building. Lightheaded, he stood up unsteadily, twisted his ankle, and fell over the edge.

---

Elsewhere, reeling from a day of unruly children's parties, a man in a clown costume lit up a cigarette as he sat waiting for the next bus to arrive. His make-up was faded and he could barely stand.

"Fucking little assholes," he muttered.

The man had many rackets, and had he known he would've won big the night before, he wouldn't have booked a whole day of clown gigs. He had a financial goal he needed to reach before he gets to enjoy the fruits of his labors. Not a single cent would be wasted. A few more big wins, and he'd be off to the beach in no time.

As a trained magician, he had recently set his sights on cleaning out illegal poker dens. Security was easy to fool, and desperate chumps were easy to read. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner.

A lanky woman approached asking if the man saw her dog. She pulled out an old photograph, and he waved her off, as he was not familiar with the mutt. He was, however, somewhat familiar with the woman. If his memory served him correctly, he knew that the woman in front of him was the same one who enjoyed spreading false rumors. He was almost sure of it, because his late mother used to be a favorite target of hers. She had a reputation none were envious of, and close to no one was willing to lend her a hand in her search.

"Serves you right," he whispered, as she was walking away. "Bitch."

Not long after, the sun vanished right along with his patience. He had grown tired of waiting for the bus, so he stood up, and decided to walk home.

The man dragged his feet, and kicked around litter he came across. He had enough of living in the city, and couldn't wait to get away from it all. As he turned the corner, he heard a violent rustling behind a dumpster. He hesitated for a bit, but decided to check it out. Quietly creeping toward the noise, he noticed two pairs of feet entangled on the ground.

"Get a room!" he exclaimed, laughing, as he kicked the rusty dumpster.

A muffled scream replied, and he cautiously walked around to get a better view. He was startled to see the woman from earlier being mounted by what looked like a raggedy homeless man. The vagrant had his left hand above her mouth, as he was having his way with her.

"What the—" he blurted out. His eyes were wide open and he gritted his teeth. "Get the hell off her!"

He grabbed a pipe, and pummeled the molester. The aggressor was quick to his feet, but the clown didn't let up. The homeless man evaded his blow and snuck a wild punch to the clown's throat, before running away. Out of breath, the clown fell down to his knees, gasping for air.

When he came to, he checked if the woman was alright before heading out to signal for help. He grabbed the pipe, in case the vagrant returned. His clothes were stained with blood, and he was disoriented from the hit.

Right across the street, three teenagers were busy vandalizing a wall. The clown walked slowly, and didn't have the capacity to shout. One of the youths turned around and noticed the blood-soaked clown heading towards them. Hopped up on paint thinners, the three assumed that this was one of those killer clowns that have been in the news lately. Thinking that they would be awarded as heroes, they ganged up on the clown and beat him to a bloody pulp, recording the whole assault on camera.

---

A siren blared, and the three ran off to different directions. The police car zoomed past the dying clown and hit one of the teens straight on. The cop in the passenger seat got off the vehicle and chased the other two. The driver stepped out, cuffed the teen he hit and called for an ambulance to the scene. Once he secured his prisoner in the backseat, he drove the car to the direction where his partner ran, only to discover that his comrade had corraled the remaining perpetrators.

"Shit," he shouted, slapping the steering wheel. He got off the car with a tired smile, and lightly tapped the hood of their vehicle. "Really though ... I don't know how you do it!"

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," his partner replied, snickering. "I guess this makes it, what? Five to two? Pay up, motherfucker."

The driver handed his partner 50 bucks, then dragged the perpetrator he had in the back seat out of the car. They found themselves near the river, a few blocks from the scene.

"What do you think?" his partner asked. "PCP? Addys?"

"These fuckers? They smell like a freshly painted house."

The pair lined up the teens on their knees, facing the river. There was an ongoing drug war, and every person on the force had a shoot-to-kill order on anyone who resisted arrest. To encourage them, they had a quota of drug arrests they needed to meet. There were no restrictions. Drug lords, small-time dealers, even users — it was open season for anyone related with drugs.

"After a bath in the drink, they won't smell like nothing."

"Please don't we—" one of the teens pleaded. "We were only beating up that killer clown."

"Yeah, see," another followed. "He grabbed my dick, and I said 'What the hell, faggot!' and then we ganged up on him and—"

"What did you say?" the driver asked, as he put a gun to the teen's head. "Did I just hear him say what I think he said?"

"Do you assholes have a problem with gay people?" his partner asked, drawing his gun from his holster. "I'm gay. Do you have a problem with me, you little punk?"

"N-No, s-sir," the teen stammered. "Ma'am? I don't ... I don't know what to—"

"Relax, we're just screwing with you," the partner declared, laughing. "How about you? You sound awfully quiet."

"Go fuck yourself, fag," the teen who hasn't spoken exclaimed.

Without hesitation, the two policemen shot the teens and dumped their bodies in the water.

"In pursuit of clown killers near the river," the driver radioed in. "Three hostiles, armed and dangerous."

His partner fired a couple of rounds at the river, then holstered his weapon.

"Shots fired!" the driver followed. "Shots fired."

"X will do fine," his partner announced, dropping a small packet of ecstasy on the groud. "Want to grab a bite? I'm starving."

---

Unbeknownst to them, the boy's neighbor was hiding in the bushes filming the entire exchange. He was just strolling along the river, then ducked for cover when the police vehicle pulled up. Luckily for him, the whole scene had a good enough lighting.

As a former reporter, he had a knack for exclusive scoops like this. He was dubbed "Mr. Exclusive" back in his heyday, until he was exposed as being on the payroll of almost every corrupt government official. After that, no news outlet took him seriously. His dismissal was fast and hard, and he had been trying to come up with a way to redeem himself. The video he recently recorded might just be the golden ticket he was looking for, he thought.

He had been a firm skeptic of how the current government was ran, but nobody paid any attention to what he had to say. In the eyes of the public, he was labeled a disgrace, and a puppet of the old regime.

The washed-up reporter waited a while until the police cleared the scene. He boarded the next bus he could flag down, and he quickly hurried home.

"Honey!" he exclaimed, with a permanent smile plastered to his face. "You won't believe what I caught on camera! This is huge!"

His wife sat on the sofa, curled up into a ball. She had been staring at the floor blankly for quite some time.

"This is going to change everything for us," he proclaimed, kneeling down in front of her. "Hey, this is going to make up for everything."

His wife sat there quietly, motionless. Her eyes were swollen, and her elbows were gashed.

With a soft tone, she whispered to him. "I was raped."

I hope you enjoyed my Halloween offering. Sure, it's not the traditional creepy horror story, but I wanted to experiment on writing a socially-fueled, quick-switching narrative, bleak noir. If you're craving horror stories, check out these Halloween reads from these awesome Steemit authors:

Visitation Rites by @ezzy (Day 1) and (Day 2) You may want to empty your bladder first, because you're in for a chilling treat
Bad Trip by @naquoya Part 10 is the latest entry in this captivating series, so be sure to check out the previous ones, in case you wanted to stay up all night.
Halloween Shortest Horror Stories by @michelle.gent (LINK) I have a soft spot for flash fiction, and these series of short stories have stabbed me in that weak spot and left me bleeding. I smiled as I went quietly into the night.
Shortest Horror Stories by @merej99 (LINK) These brought me back to life, then ran me though a meat grinder of awesomess.

If you have more Halloween story suggestions, feel free to post links in the comments section, along with your comments/thoughts about the story of course. Let's support original stories, art and their creators, and let's flood Steemit with creativity!