Further perhaps? I don't know where this is going...comments/critiques much appreciated.
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Shifting light laced itself into the hair of a mischievous-looking boy who called himself Set. Above him towered a dilapidated apartment building. It seemed to tilt over him in an almost protective motion. Late rays of sunlight bounced dully off smudged windows and attached themselves to the ferocious eyes of the mocking boy. The skyscrapers paid no attention to what didn’t concern them, unlike their conniving inhabitants.
As the sun slipped away and cold, mirrored lights began to re-illuminate the city, a yellow cab pulled up next to the vindictive child and honked. Set approached the cab, staring at himself in the tinted window for a moment longer then was necessary, and then slid into the cab, slamming the door harder than the driver might have liked.
“You need to clean your windows. My face was nearly unrecognizable on its filthy surface.” The boy giggled like a child and slumped in the leathery seat, no longer interested by the window if his reflection could not be seen.
“Your pretty face is going to get ripped off sooner or later, and then you will thank me for my dirty windows,” said the driver, a grimy sort of fellow with a voice slightly hoarse from hours of empty conversation and eyes dripping light because they could no longer contain anything good.
“Don’t be morbid, Trev, and don’t forget that I would cease to exist without my beautiful face. And if I remember, existence is required for gratitude, and your windows will never be acceptable in any sense.”
“Don’t try to sound mature and intelligent. In your case, imitation if far from flattery,” laughed Trev; Set looked sullen.
The traffic was lighter at this time, the distant scent of dinner drifting through the city and dragging the hungry off the streets languidly.
“I suppose you aren’t going to ask me how it all went,” said Set, sitting up and leaning lethargically on the back of the passenger seat. Trev glanced back at him, melancholy amusement scribbled on his unshaven face. “Ah, forget it. You’re not one to feed my vanity, are you? Say nothing, my friend, and drop me at West.”
‘Where did you pick up that stupid affect? You sound like a British schoolboy.’ Trev wondered if his comment could possibly be interpreted as affectionate and he hoped it couldn’t. Distractedly, he turned a sharp corner, stopping in front of a lifeless tree, weighed down by broken Christmas lights.
“Leave my accent alone. And don’t accuse me of going to school,” he added, slumping down in his seat again and staring moodily at a purple line down his hand. “Dammit, Trev. You’re being an ass today.” The boy began to climb out of the car, his movements sharp and annoyed.
“Set! Schoolboys still have to pay taxi fair!” He leaned back and grabbed Set’s jacket, stopping him.
“Don’t have any money,” muttered Set. “Why did you pick me up in the first place?” Disentangling Trev’s hand from his jacket, he stepped out of the car, slamming the door spitefully. Trev backed up abruptly and then jumped forward onto the curb, striking Set in the back of the leg with the front bumper. The boy fell on his knees heavily and rolled out of the way as Trev sped forward again, apparently trying to truly injure him beyond repair.
“Dammit, Trev! I’ll pay you later--you’re going to kill me!” he cried, getting shakily to his feet, Trev had gotten his left, back wheel stuck on the curb and his engine was stalling. Massaging his bruised leg, Set began to laugh. He narrowed his eyes precociously, his laughter genuine but his intentions shady. He knew that he attracted destruction and, despite his bruised leg, found it thoroughly amusing. Finally, Trev gave up and backed up violently, crashing into an already wilting tree and knocking it through a window. “Stupid. Stupid…” Set put weight on his injured leg and winced. “Damn you.”
Set had not told Trev where he was going, or where he had been. He was anxious that Trev might ask, afraid that Trev might be able to detect a lie in his voice, and so he had used his best act of infuriating arrogance to dissuade his friend from inquiring at all. There was a certain amount of compassion in this act, but Set did not know about it and likely never would. Set knew that Trev might offer to help if he knew what kind of trouble the boy was in and that was what Set must prevent. Not because he cared for Trev’s welfare, but because help was the last thing one bent on destruction is going to accept.
As he rounded the corner into the most decadent part of the city, he let his mask fall off; his face now that of a frightened fifteen year old boy and scarcely anything like the kid who Trev had tried to hit with his taxi. Set didn’t always recognize himself and this was one of the times he might have easily had a conversation with the mirror.
A subtle scent of wrongdoing and malicious intent slipped under Sets skin as he limped down the dirty sidewalk. The lights that sprang off streetlamps and store signs clashed impetuously in the limp air. The faces that flickered in and out of the gaudy lights were nothing but phantom memories to Set; he knew them all from his nightmares.
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“That’s what you remember, but nothing close to what I said.”
“I don’t much care about what you said. I am here concerned with what you meant. And what you meant is only an interpretation. In other words, I decide either way.”
A damp room furnished in silk and satin drapes dripped with the fatigue of confusion and mocked the argument that drifted out of importance. The boy, Set, was standing behind the beaten sofa, playing with the grimy, satin hangings and refusing to admit defeat. His attacker was laying indolently in a velvet armchair, a shock of silver-brown hair half-hidden by a pinstriped hat. Set did not care for the argument that he had accidentally landed himself in. He had come home to find the argument laying in his armchair and had yet to be rid of it. Certainty as to what measures should be taken to be rid of the man, and his hopeless demand, had not been decided on yet. Set stalled, trying to cover up his indecision with useless words.
“Well, at this point, I think we have gone far enough down the road of empty threats and it is time to truly threaten each other,” said Set, pulling the drapes around his shoulders and glancing out the window at the selfish lights; he despised their insistence on him having curtains, why must they stay so safe in themselves and keep everyone else in the dark? Selfish lights, he hated them.
“Stupid boy. None of my threats have been empty and I do not make a habit of speaking empty threats; quite unlike you.” The man’s insult had hurt Set. The term ‘stupid boy’ should never be used on someone who had worked so hard to be neither. Set felt his endless effort crumble at his feet and he looked up.
“For some reason I don’t think a stupid boy could possibly have something that you would want. You being so refined and intelligent.” Set pulled the curtains down violently, sending a dim shaft of light across the cluttered contents of the room. “But perhaps I am too stupid to know that; too young and immature, right?” This boy was suddenly no longer the boy that Curtin had felt safe threatening.
“W - what?” Set was fairly sure that Curtin didn’t want to understand him, but he went on anyway.
“What if one must break the rules to let the light in? Which is more important, to drive away the dark that we sometimes despise so much, or keep the law that we always hate?” Curtin stood and stepped behind the chair, wanting to put something substantial between him and the mad boy. “What if you are the thing that is keeping me from the light? Am I justified in…removing you altogether simply to gain that greater good?” Set smiled haughtily. “Tell me, Curtin, what is your opinion on this matter?” But Curtin was unable to articulate his opinion and Set greatly doubted he had one at all. Set’s violence was not that of passion or even that of calculation, it was simply that of Set; Set was violence. Destruction yearned for the light but was unable to ever reach it. Yet, somehow, the cold realization of futility could not seem to get close enough to end what could only go on forever..
Set had wanted Curtin to understand. He would regret later not allowing some form of realization to sink in. It mattered little, for the light kept to itself; when the curtains fell the light that the boy craved skipped away, leaving a trail of blood in it’s wake.
