Author: Well, I'm writing this because… well, when inspiration hits, it hits.
Carl: Aren't you supposed to be working on Sands, though?
Author: Hey, that can wait, right?
Carl: Sure…
Author: (stretches) Let's begin. And no, I don't own any of this.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Ungh!" Fifteen-year old Ivan landed on the dusty streets of Kalay, his face in the dirt. He raised his grimy head wearily, and stared upwards at the boy who had pushed him down.
Wilson. As usual. Ivan gritted his teeth and balled his fists. Damn it…
"C'mon, runt." His oppressor snickered. "Get up and take your beating like a man."
Ivan closed his eyes, trying to let the anger bleed away. He could fry this little punk in him. His… powers were more than enough to electrocute the boy, or at least give him one heck of a shock.
But he couldn't do it. He couldn't risk the reputation of Master Hammet just for beating up someone. Shakily, he climbed to his feet.
"Please…" He began. He never got any further. A boot landed on his chest, knocking him back onto the ground. Damn it all.
"So," Wilson continued. "You think you're so good? Just because you're mister Hammet's pet boy? Because you're his special servant? Because you can read minds?"
Ivan remained on the ground, doing his best not to let rage overtake him again. Hs master had known about the bullies around the area, but he could not keep Ivan under protection. And once his master was out of sight, they came. Attracted to him like bees to honey.
His master had always told him to rise above it. That bullies were cowards at heart, and they lashed out, striking blindly, at anything they didn't understand. That they were ultimately meaningless.
But that didn't make it any easier to bear. An instant later, Wilson had punched him by his ear, knocking him flat onto the dust. He coughed, winded. He didn't need to put up with this.
"Well, let me tell you something, twerp. You're not special. You're a freak. A worthless nobody. Lord knows why mister Hammet chose you as his servant. You're more suited to slave's work."
Be above it, Ivan.
He crawled to his feet, and stood, staring at the older youth in front of him. Panting slightly, he backed off a few steps never taking his eyes of Wilson. "Don't… don't do this anymore." He said.
Wilson didn't say anything. He merely started walking, a slow easy stroll, until he was directly in front of Ivan. His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer, and he spat at Ivan. The fifteen-year old barely flinched.
If you disgrace yourself, you disgrace me…
A blur of motion, and Ivan was once again on his back, winded, and staring at the fast retreating figure of Wilson. He paused to flip Ivan an obscene gesture before disappearing around a bend.
That is the one thing I cannot accept from you…
Above him, thunder boomed, and a gentle, mist-like rain began to fall. Slowly, Ivan picked himself up, and started for home.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ivan slowly staggered in through the double doors of the hallway. He considered going to Lady Layana for help, and to call the medics, but decided against it. Why would they bother? He was a nobody, and they treated him as such. The guards at the gate had seen him, had seen his condition. And they had ignored him.
He was irrelevant. He was frightening. Him and his ability to read minds. To peer into the hearts and souls of any he met. His master had utilized his ability well, using Ivan to make sure that none of his customers were fleecing him. But to everyone else, he was… different. And because of that, he was an outcast, unable to fit in with the kids he saw, playing outside, running through the fields, enjoying life for life itself.
Entering the bathroom, he observed himself in the mirror. Yup. He looked like crap. One of his eyes was swollen, his lip was bleeding, and there was dirt and dust all over his face. Dipping a cloth towel into the basin of water, he did his best to wipe out the grime from his face, wincing as the cloth rubbed against his bruises. After which he pulled out a few curative herbs, and mashed them into a fine paste before applying it to worst areas on his face.
That finished, he collapsed on his bed.
One day, Ivan, you will make us all proud.
That was what Master Hammet had told him. But he couldn't see that day. He couldn't see himself doing anything that would possibly make anyone proud.
He was lonely. That was it. He had no friends to speak of, no companions, or anyone to share his thoughts, his hopes and dreams with. He was alone. So very alone in this harsh world, where no one could afford to be without true companions, without friends.
Curling up into a fetal position, he sobbed into his pillow, the feathery material absorbing the tears that fell freely from his face.
"I don't want to be alone anymore." He whispered to the empty room.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Mom, can I go out to play?" Sheba asked her mother, standing at the window. The kids out there were playing some kind of ball game… Sheba had never been able to figure out it's name, as she had never properly interacted with the kids outside. Maybe today?
"No, dear." Her mother said, dashing her hopes. "It's dangerous out there."
"But mom!" Sheba started. "I never get to play! I never get to go out and find friends."
"Sheba," Her mother smiled. "You're special. You are a Child of the Gods, and the Gods decided it fit to send you to us. You are our daughter, Sheba. And we need to give you the best possible protection."
The Child of the Gods
That was the moniker they had seen fit to give to her. And it had rapidly turned into the one thing she hated. What use was it, being someone who was elevated above normal status of the community, when she couldn't do any of the things the normal people around her could? She was given next to nothing in terms of privacy during her daily life, complete strangers coming up to her, asking her the God's will. As if she would know!
But because they had seen her fall to the earth, one starry night fifteen years ago, they had assumed the Gods had sent her as a gift to the people of the desert lands. And she had been stuck with that title. She detested it now.
In a distant corner of her mind, even as she retread tired threads of thought and frustration, she felt the sting of hot tears come to her eyes.
No! The last time they had seen her cry, they had assumed it was a bad omen from the Gods and fasted for a month. Quickly, she turned from the window and dashed up the stairs, not wanting to let her mother or father see the tears leaking from his eyes.
Alone in her room, she went to the window, staring out at the ancient structure to the west.
The Venus Lighthouse. That was what the scholars from Tolbi called it. And even from this great distance, she felt… oppressed. As if the huge pillar was draining her. Heck, everything around her felt stifling.
Walking tiredly over to the bed, she flopped down onto it, staring at the ceiling of her room. She didn't have friends, she wasn't allowed to go out and make friends, her life sucked.
Below her, she heard the door open, and someone came in, asking her mother of he could see the so-called Child of the Gods.
Sheba began to cry.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Night. Ivan had always loved the night. It allowed him solitude, allowed him to cast all his cares and burdens, spilling them out to the silent, sympathetic figure of the moon.
He sat on the rooftop of the palace, feeling the cold winds blow through his hair, ruffling it. Staring up at the smiling face of Luna, his mouth curled into the pretense of a smile. And yet his heart still ached.
He was desperately lonely. He wanted friendship, something that seemed destined to forever be out of his reach. He wanted someone to confide in, someone who could listen to his miseries, his sorrows, and not dismiss them with a curt word, or a cruel sneer.
And where would he find such a thing? The only solace he received was his master. And he was busy most of the time, and although he took Ivan out on his many trips around the continent, he rarely had time to spare for his servant and adoptive son.
He closed his eyes, leaning against the cool marble of the wall. And then he saw, without physical eyes, himself. Older, and wiser, carrying a heavy, invisible burden and a measure of sorrow. A task, appointed to him. And yet, he was happier too, around people who joked, who laughed with him, not at him. Around his friends.
And he saw, with his mind's eye, himself, holding hands with another person. Walking through the streets of exotic towns hand in hand, laughing at the jests and japes of each other. Staring at a sunset on the horizon. Reveling in each other's company.
His eyes snapped open, and he gasped, panting slightly, as the aftereffects of his vision faded away. As he calmed down, he leaned against the wall, thinking.
He felt… calmed. Reassured. He felt as if he could face any challenge that stood in his way now. Foolish, to be sure, but comforting.
He stared, with eyes that held hope renewed, at the smiling face of Luna.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sheba stood on the rooftop of her house, staring down at the sleepy town in front of her. The last candle had been snuffed, the last door had been closed, and Lalivero would go to sleep until the next morning. Leaving her free to her devices, her musings. Alone.
She was sick and tired of this. She hated living a facade, putting up a false aura of cheerfulness to the people around her. She didn't want the honor, if becoming a prisoner in her own town was the price to pay.
She had done this all for her parents. She hadn't wanted to disappoint them, to make them feel hurt. So she had put up the pretense of a good girl, perfectly happy with her surroundings.
And she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't keep up the mask, couldn't continue playing the part of a sweet little God Child. She had turned, if she had not always been, into a figurehead. A prized possession, to be treasured and guarded, and shown to visitors in pride.
Was this the life she wanted? No. But she was doomed to it, as long as she lived.
As long as she lived…
A second later, she drew out the dagger that her parents had left on the roof once, after doing some work on it. She had pocketed it then, thinking that it might come in useful some day.
Slowly, she raised the blade to her chest. A distant part of her mind was terrified at the thought of this, but another part of her had long since accepted this.
She didn't want this. She was so alone, separate from the rest of the people that walked the dusty streets of the town, living out their lives. If she could not find happiness here, then perhaps she'd find it in another world. She didn't want this.
Closing her eyes, she drove the blade towards her chest as hard as she could.
Then she opened her eyes again, staring in shock.
A translucent, almost shimmering hand had reached out, stopping the blade an instant before it had reached her body. Looking up, her jaw dropped in astonishment as she gazed into a pair of violet eyes, eyes that mirrored all the pain, the hurt and loneliness she had felt during her life here.
Slowly, the boy relieved her of her weapon. His smiled, almost sheepishly, as he tossed the dagger away, letting it splash into the river behind them.
He reached forward, and enveloped Sheba in a hug, which she found herself returning almost instinctively, and she felt all the depression, her worries, and her thoughts draining away.
Pausing to look at her one last time, the boy smiled again, gently, this time, as he slowly faded away, out of existence.
But the feelings remained. The aura of safety, of friendship, of caring that he had carried stayed with her, freeing her mind of any worries or fears. She found herself smiling and giggling slightly as she turned her gaze upwards, staring at the luminous moon high above her.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
And as the night lengthened, and the dark things that lived in the roots of the world crept out, the night to themselves for this time, two people, yet one in heart and soul, stared at the moon and dreamed of the day when they would no longer be alone.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author: And it's a wrap!
Carl: Hmm… not too bad.
Author: Why, thank you.
Carl: Well, you people know the drill. Read and review, 'kay?