Red

Benjamin stood in front of the pizzeria’s door and rummaged through his pockets, looking for the keys. The place was quiet, chairs rested on the tables, refrigerators humming quietly in the background. As a shift manager, he always tried to get there at least thirty minutes before the rest of the staff. He loved the silence. Those few minutes when he could sit on a high bar stool, sip his coffee and stare at nothing. It was always a refreshing change from his otherwise very noisy day-to-day.

He unlocked the door, stepped inside and closed it behind him. The quiet settled around him immediately. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat.

At home, it was different. Too many voices, too many small things that needed fixing. His mother moving from one task to another, his father by the window in his wheelchair, silent most of the time, and his brothers who were never still.

He took a sip. The coffee was already lukewarm, but he didn’t mind.

It was Independence Day. Always a busy time in this place, but the real rush would come later, late at night, when people started drifting in from parties, loud and drunk, looking for something to eat before heading home – or somewhere else. He didn’t like working on holidays, but he didn’t have much of a choice. They needed his salary desperately, and on Independence Day, they paid him double, so there was no question.

He glanced at his watch, then stood up and moved toward the ovens. Time to get to work.

His staff arrived and they prepared the place, started the big ovens, prepared the dough and made the sauces. The usual crowd started drifting in with a slow and lazy stream, typical for that time of the day. First entered the little kids, with their parents, who wanted to get dinner over with as quickly as possible and send their kids to bed.

Later, the older boys and girls arrived and sat in small groups around the tables, laughing and teasing each other.

The shift went well - nothing unusual. He knew that as the night went on, the crowd would begin to change, especially on Independence Day. People who didn’t rush. Lingering too long. Voices a little too loud, a little unsteady. The kind that drifted through the night and stopped wherever there was light.

Around ten the place was already crowded when a group of six boys walked in. Benjamin didn’t need to smell the alcohol to know they were trouble. Hoodies, shaved heads, white sneakers. He knew the type; he’d seen them before. Lived among them. He could handle himself. Had done so more than once. But he always preferred not to. He hoped they’d take a look and leave. But they didn’t.

The boys - most of them no older than sixteen - spread out, laughing too loud, bumping into chairs, brushing past customers like they owned the place. Benjamin stayed behind the counter for a moment, watching. A couple near the window went quiet. The woman leaned in, whispering something to her partner. A father pulled his kid closer without taking his eyes off the boys.

Benjamin exhaled slowly. Then he stepped out behind the counter and approached the one who looked like their leader.

“Hey, man,” he said quietly. “Can you and your friends step outside for a minute?”

“Say that again, you little punk!” the boy snapped, turning to face him. He was shorter than Benjamin, but there was nothing small about the way he stood. His eyes were sharp, restless, looking for something. Looking for a fight, thought Benjamin.

“All good, man,” Benjamin said, not moving. “There are kids here, families. You’re making people nervous. Just take it outside, yeah?”

“Making them nervous?” the boy said grinning. The others laughed behind him. “What about you? You nervous?” He stepped closer, too close. Benjamin almost got drunk from his breath alone.

“No,” Benjamin said evenly. A beat.

Then he reached out into his pocket and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes.

“Look,” he said. “You smoke? Take it. On me. Go outside, have a smoke, do whatever you want. Just… Not here.”

The boy’s eyes dropped to the pack. For a second, the tension shifted. He snatched it from Benjamin’s hand. Then, without warning, he smacked him on the back of the neck.

“Come on,” he said, turning to the others. “Let’s go.”

They moved toward the door, still laughing.

Just before stepping out, the boy stopped and looked back.

“What time you closing?”

“Two,” Benjamin said. “Why?”

“Nothing,” the boy smiled and vanished along with his gang.

Benjamin stood there for a moment, exhaled slowly, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. That was close. It could have gone worse.

Toward closing time, the place was already almost empty. Benjamin released his staff a little earlier and stayed to close alone. He watched the fireworks from the window while he wiped the tables, turned off the ovens and put everything back in its place. He turned the lights off, locked the door and started walking toward home.

“Hey, dude!” he heard behind him after two steps. He turned around. The bully from earlier came out of the shadows, all his friends with him, and a few more. They looked even more drunk than earlier. They all formed a circle around Benjamin, who was looking for a way to break into a run.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, bitch!”

“Hi”, Benjamin smiled even though he was frightened. “What’s up, guys?”

The leader stepped closer and said, “Guess what? We’re all out.” He pointed his finger to Benjamin and jabbed it into his chest. The others were jeering loudly about the smokes.

“All good, man,” Benjamin said. “I have some money, take it and buy more, here…”

Someone from behind pushed his back hard, and Benjamin fell over the leader, who pushed him back. Everyone laughed.

“Look, guys, I don’t want trouble, can you just let me go?”

“Hear that, guys?” the leader turned to his friends. “He doesn’t want any troubles!” They all laughed. He turned back to Benjamin. “You’re in deep shit now, motherfucker!” and he punched Benjamin in his face.

Benjamin’s head was ringing, but he knew he had to react. There was no other option. He hit back, his fist finding the boy’s neck. He was about to strike again, when someone kicked him behind the knee and he fell.

He didn’t have the time to turn. Another blow hit his face. He felt something crack, tasted blood. He tried to get up, but as if that gave them a hidden sign – they were all over him now. Kicks, fists, laughter. Benjamin tried to fight back, but it was hopeless. He managed to push himself up and started to run. Two steps – maybe three – before someone slammed into him from the side and sent him crashing back to the ground. His blood covered his clothes, but they didn’t stop.

The beating went on for a few seconds more, then slowed. The noise blurred into something distant like it was happening somewhere else.

Through the haze, he saw one of them step forward. A small blade in his hand. For a moment, Benjamin didn’t understand what he was looking at. Then the boy drove it into his leg. The pain came a second later, sharp and sudden.

Benjamin gasped and grabbed his thigh. His hand came back wet. Too wet. The boy stepped back, watching. The others fell quiet. Benjamin pressed his hand harder against the wound, but the blood kept coming, slipping through his fingers, warm and fast.

No…

He tried to get up, but his body didn’t respond. The street spun, the sounds faded. Fireworks cracked somewhere above, bright flashes lighting the sky.

He lay there, breathing fast, then slower, then not fast enough.

I need to get up, he thought, but he didn’t move. His eyes drifted to the sidewalk. The empty street. The familiar path home. The pizzeria. The stool. The quiet before the shift. The coffee. Just for a moment, it was all there.

Then it wasn’t.

The red kept spreading beneath him, silent and steady.