Chapter 1

Hello everyone This is the first chapter of a story I'm working on. The prologue was actually posted in the Action/Adventure section if you're interested, because I made a bit of a mistake when I posted... Ah well. Please critique and enjoy!

Edit: Let me emphesize that I am NOT having a go at Christians or their beliefs in this chapter, it's just how I imagine the character would think.

Word count: 1526

Chapter 1

If there were only one day in the history of the world that I could choose to erase, it would be the 13th of July, 2015. They say that’s impossible to remember the day that you were born, but I can. Of course I cannot remember it clearly, but I can still vaguely recall that small room, lit only by the dim sunlight that has managed to shine through those heavy grey clouds. In the days following my birth, I did not receive visits from my parent’s friends, or even by any relatives like what would have been expected. Later I found out that this was because my parents did not have any friends or family. I was left by myself in that house for most of my early childhood.

I wasn’t bothered by this at the time, as I didn’t really understand how I was meant to be treated. When I was finally tall enough to see out of the windows, I saw something that at the time I had considered to be very strange. A young boy, just like me, smiling and holding his parents hands. At first, I was confused. I had thought that he was the one who was raised differently, and not me. A little while later, I saw another child, a young girl this time, skipping happily alongside her mother who was walking quickly to keep up with her daughter. It was then that I realized, I was the one who was different, I was the one that was strange. It must have been because of this that my mind had become so different to other, normal children.

I learnt from an early age that nothing was going to just be given to me, and that if I wanted ever to be happy, I would have to do something about it myself. But how could I? I was just a child. But even though I was so young, my misfortune had helped my understand things that most children that were the same age as me wouldn’t have even started to think about.

I knew that I didn’t want to become like my father, a vulgar, violent and dislikable man who took his anger out on other people. I knew even more that I didn’t want to be like my mother, a weak person who is so ruled by their illogical beliefs that they’re afraid to stand up for themselves, and will accept any unjust punishment that they are made to receive. I promised myself that I would rather die than end up like one of them.

It was on the Christmas Eve of my 6th year when I was abandoned, thrown away by people who should care about me, but don’t.

I never understood the appeal of Christmas. It started off as a day to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ our ‘savior’, and as if that is not pathetic enough, it is now a time of the year for children to beg their parents for expensive new toys, for adults to exchange meaningless gifts for no reason other than because it is what is expected of them, and for retailers sell overpriced products to these people who are bound by tradition.

I guess that at the time I was not particularly worried, as to me, it was not an uncommon occurrence. That man would sometimes come home late at night, stinking of alcohol, and would then proceed to take his anger out on my mother and I until he eventually passed out. It would sadden most people to see their mother being treated that way, but not me. I just felt sickened by the way that she would accept it so easily, and refuse to fight back.

When he was in an especially bad mood, he would throw me out of the house, into the cold, dark alleyway outside. The first time this had happened, I was absolutely petrified, believing that I was really bring abandoned. I soon learnt that by the time he woke up the next day, he would have completely forgotten about the night before, and I could just walk back into the house like nothing had happened.

However, that time was different. Like usual, I waited about two hours before slipping back through the door. As I waited, I listened to the faint whisper of voices and music that drifted over from the nearby New York City, watching the Christmas lights on the tall buildings twinkle. I had expected to be able to walk back into the house just like I always could, but to my surprise, the door was locked.

I had stared at the door in disbelief, trying my best not to panic or cry, or to show any sign of weakness.

“Tomorrow morning,” I told myself. “He’ll let me back in tomorrow.”

Unfortunately, even back then I knew that I was just lying to myself so that I would feel better. Even though I should have known better, I still held onto a faint sliver of hope that it would all be okay. Inevitably, I was proved wrong.

If I had thought that my previous years in that dark, lonely house were the worst times that I would ever spend, I clearly thought wrong. The following few days, I spent sitting in that alleyway outside the house, too afraid to stay, but even more afraid to leave. It was three days before I finally gave up on the blind faith that I had foolishly held. I was alone this time, nobody was going to come and help me.

I can still remember my feelings from that day. The feeling of being completely unwanted, the feeling of losing all hope, the feeling of just wanting death to come quickly to end this slow, cruel torture that I was being made to endure.

On that day, as the sun begun to set, it started to snow. It really was an enchanting sight, the pure white snow floating down towards me, contrasting with the darkening sky, the dull colours of the surrounding houses and the shadowy walls of the alleyway, almost like little lights falling out of the sky. I had tried to avoid the snow as much as I could by sitting under the ledge of a roof, but the wind would blow the snow towards me.

Soon the sky had become completely black. It was the night of a new moon, and there were very few stars, so the only light came from the small windows of the nearby houses and the headlights of the occasional car that drove by. I was almost completely numb from the snow that had melted and soaked through my thin sweater and pants, so I just lay there, waiting, watching the snow continue floating down towards me.

Then, I heard soft, slow footsteps coming towards me. I wasn’t surprised, as in the last few days; many people had walked into the alleyway. Some ignored me completely, some would walk past giving me a pitiful glance and others would just point and laugh. I wondered what type of person this one would be. The footsteps stopped no more than a few metres away from me.

“Hello.”

I turned my head to face the figure standing beside me. Did they just talk to me? I was even more shocked when I saw that the person talking to me was a tall, well dressed man. What was someone like him doing in a place like this? Normal and well-off people rarely came to this part of town, and seldom conversed with the residents. This man, why was he here?

The man’s expression changed, was it a smile, or a smirk? It was hard to tell in the darkness. “My name is Zephyr, what is yours?” He had asked, with an unexpected hint of sarcasm in his voice. I knew better than to talk to strangers, but at that time, I had nothing left to lose.

“My name is Misael.”

It was almost strange to hear my own voice. I wasn’t usually spoken to, and when people did speak to me, it would be to tell me to do something, not really requiring any verbal answer.

“Misael, you are wondering why somebody like me is here, correct?”

I nodded, it was more like a statement rather than a question, the directness of it almost made it seem like he had just heard my thoughts.

“Well, a certain friend of mine took something belonging to me and hid it somewhere here on this earth.”

I blinked, here on this earth? Of course it would be here on this earth, where else could it possibly be? And besides, why was he even telling me this?

“You are aware that you do not have long left to live, yes?”

I was shocked to say the least. What kind of person would say something like that? His smile, or smirk, widened.

“You want to live, don’t you? You want to be happy?”

There was no doubt left in my mind that this was not any normal man.

“How would you like to live forever?”