Gutter and Thew

Gutter and Thew

Postby Dejicide » Sun May 03, 2015 1:37 am

The boy had toiled for weeks since coming to this town: odd jobs, panhandling, pick-pocketing, and outright theft. It seemed that nothing but violence was a means for his survival; however, he did not always have the choice to avoid it himself. He had been verbally and physically assaulted more times then he could count on a single hand on a daily basis but it was worth it. Survival was worth any punishment he had to endure, which was also highly contradictory. More than one of those he worked for had offered more than a day's work, food, and even a place to stay but they couldn't be trusted, could they? No, each one would come to the same conclusion as those in his village did: he was dirty, unclean, and a threat to their society once they learned the truth. He hadn't even done anything to deserve such treatment to his recollection, to be cast out so. His parents, too, were innocent of all but challenging their mediocre and close-minded definition of normal. The thought brought back the blurry vision of fear, vertical ropes snapping taught, and the sound of so many screaming at the condemned. He shook his head as if it could dismantle the imagery but it stuck with him until the thought of hate replaced it.

No, he thought, many of those who helped him were obviously different, they wouldn't judge, they could be trusted. Deep in his heart he knew he kept his distance because it was he that was not to be trusted. Those with kindness would eventually be burned by the rage that consumed him, this catalyst that shoved the young man from dying in the gutters and alleys of the city to now wielding a simple, leather-bound book. He was still hungry, his head swam often with the fatigue of malnutrition, and the wounds he suffered days ago still throbbed and burned but it didn't matter to him. If he could read, he would. If he could not read, he would steal for food now until he could.

There was little light at this hour and his frail figure shook from exposure, but driven he was. Hoarse whispers came from cracked lips in this dark, dank corner of Myrkentown until a soft light grew about him, apathetic of his need for warmth. He could read by it and he would until he may collapse or be so close to it that he could barely drag himself to a nearby street where some passerby may offer food or water. Indeed, they were fools to not reject him again: once was enough. He would prey on their ignorance and misplaced generosity while they should have let him die there.
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Re: Gutter and Thew

Postby Dejicide » Sat May 16, 2015 6:12 am

In spite of his reluctance the boy had made a friend there in the dark alleys. Perhaps his light was a beacon to this hopeless girl about his age, speckled in freckles and covered in torn rags. She would often come with bread in trade for his light as he read on and on. She never spoke with words, only with smiles as the trade of food for light was made or a wary frown as she left each morning. There were many a night where they shared backs, his eyes on written words and diagrams while hers were on the sky: he could only think she was wishing for better days which would not come. Wishing did nothing except starve purpose.

Weeks would go by, never a word spoken between the friends, only the shared company of food, light, and innocent warmth. Eventually; however, the gutter and hunger would overcome her. As the dark teen stirred from his sleep she would slump over onto the wet stones of the dark alley. Quietly he grieved for a while but there was no regret if he felt responsible for the girl sharing food with him: it was a fair trade in his eyes and at least they had known comfort for some time in this place. Sadness seemed new to him without the anger that accompanied the thoughts of his lost parents and many times his eyes would be blurred by tears as he tried to read. Days later it was the smell that made tears well up in his eyes; would no-one come to look for their daughter? Was he, who was so saturated by motive, the only one that cared that she still lay there?

The light around the young man flickered one night as unspeakable words were made. This wasn't the soft glow he was used to conjuring but a roaring, living flame that singed and burned his hands as it enveloped his forearms and half the alley in a flick of immolating light. He couldn't bury her and they didn't care, this was the best thing he could do for his friend and it took everything he had in him, everything he had learned in the last year to do such a vulgar act. Darkness would swallow him even as the warmth and light of nearby flame would comfort him.
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