Tale Of A Lost Flame(One-shot.) Burning. He smirked a twisted smile of utter evil. You could see the flames raging in his pure black pupils as his mouth released a loud cackle. His long bony fingers tossed away the matches to the black tinged floor; with a twist of his bare burnt foot the flames were out. They were gone, yet the damage remained. His piercing black eyes jumped around the fallen building. It had been a posh house. Big with many floors. Tiles and portraits surrounding the ever lasting walls. It was home to a snobby couple with a young child...Or had been home to, anyway. The building was now broken beyond repair. Walls and floors had crumbled down, furniture become alight, and smoke had suffocated everything in sight. The boy had moved fast. He had waited till night fell, till everyone was asleep and the neighborhood was at peace, before making his mark. He had skillfully climbed through a carelessly open window before striking the familiar matches. Then he watched, mesmerised for a moment, before putting out the matches and darting away from the still ablaze house. He ran for what seemed like miles. His long legs, enveloped loosely by jeans, carrying him quickly across open fields. He ran for hours, knowing people would come after him soon. He needed to get away while it was still dark, whilst know one could see him. Even if it was light, no one would be able to see the boy well though. His dark jeans and leather jacket camaflauged him well. The only flaw was his pale skin, but that was covered by small black boots, gloves, and a mop of dark hair. After running for eternity, he eventually reeached a wood. His pace slowed to a jog and he kept his head down, as he traveled into it's shadowed figure. He came to a stop outside a tall skeleton tree. His hands gripped a rope material hanging from a high branch and he pulled his strong build up with ease. Minutes passed and he finally made it to the branch at the top. He pulled himself up carefully then crouched on the thick branch, catching his breath. Tic, toc, tic, toc. His fathers' old watch sung, strapped to the boys' wrist. He turned to glare at it, hatred in his eyes. "Stupid thing. Shut up!" He exclaimed quietly, in an irratated tone. Anyone watching would be surprised by what the boy did next. Still crouched down, he wrapped his thin arms around his knees and rocked back and forth on the branch. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," the boy repeated over and over, looking into the still dark sky. He squeezed shut his eyes. "It's okay Father. We'll show the world" A half smile played across the boys' chapped lips. Rain began to fall from the sky, as if God was annoyed by the boys' strange words. Soon thunder came, rumbling loudly. Then the lightning began to strike...Nearby. The boy simply continued to look up and murmur to himself, untouched by the drastic change of weather. "It's okay Father. That was the 17th house last night. You'd be proud. It's okay. It's o-" Lightning flashed. Again and again. Coming nearer. Nearer. Closer. Close. BAM! A lightning bolt hit the tree. It quickly fell down, sprawling out upon the wet grass and squashing the boy. Killing him instantly. Nearly instantly. In the few seconds before the weight killed him, the boy looked up at the sky. His face was emotionless, yet his eyes showed sorrow. Flashback. Rain fired itself at the jagged window as thunder boomed from above. The boy sat curled up on a leather sofa, burrowing his small head in a welcoming cushion. He did not care for the storm raging outside his little home, unlike most 8 year olds. His mind was too focused on the tragedy happening upstairs. Piercing screams could be heard from his fathers' bedroom. Each cry pulled on the young boys' heartstrings. His father screamed and begged contionously. The boy could hear the pain and the sorrow, clear in every wail his father released. Tears began to soak the cushion. If only mother was here, the boy thought. She'd be able to stop everything. The boy knew that wasn't true though. Before his mother had fallen ill, she was gentle, kind; the woman who was known for never hurting a fly. The boy -being brutally honest- knew she'd actually be useless in a situation like this. The boy closed his bloodshot eyes in defeat as the screams of his fathers got weaker and weaker. Weaker till silence floated through the air. The only noise was the squelch of black boots marching down the stairs and out the open front door, leaving little evidence of the mosters existence, just... 2 match sticks... And a burnt black room.... Containing a heavy, smoke-scented, body bag. After that day, the boy moved into an abandoned hut. It was the only safe place. He lived there for a long time, making his plans. He often moved house, running from the unknown. His life was strange. After all, how can you expect that event to happen and not change an inocent young boys' mind? Nothing in his life was consistent...Except one thing. He swore to get revenge on who murdered his father, not caring who was killed in the progress. His once sweet mind, now corrupted and filled with hatred and sorrow. He repeated the phrase to himself each day, "It's okay Father, I will come out the winner. I will kill the shallow being who killed you. It won't have been all worthless." Flashback end. "It's not okay Father...I'm sorry." -*-*-*-*- Eh, a little dark. :3 Posted a little on writers cafe, but I've added to in the mean time. :0 Thanks for reading. Leave feedback please.^-^ -Rani.
I know it says one shot, but I might show a journal of each of his birthdays after running away. It'll show how he's changing and what he's thinking/ thought. Should I? Or should I leave it?
It's no longer a one shot, get over it. :L -*-*-*-*- Journal entries of the boy, whilst he was on the run. -*-*-*-*- 19th Decemeber, 2006. Today's the two year mark since my father was...murdered. I'm on the run-Still. I moved into a hollow bush the other day. Being honest, it's actually pretty good. No one can find me there. I'm invisible. Perfect. There was no real reason to move, I just wanted to get away from the abandoned house I had been staying in. I was worried people would find me. I couldn't let myself end up like father... Father. Who knew a simple word could cause so much sorrow and anger? Every day. Every hour of every ****ing day my mind burrows into the events of that day, as if it happened only yesterday. It's as if I can't escape, as if father's willing me to do something. I'll find out what. Someday. Somehow... Today I didn't do much, just sat and sighed, hour after hour. Even though I don't like to admit, I do that most days. Except if I have to hunt or move, and due to my over-reactive paranoid frame of mind, that's a lot. I have to go. There's a young rabbit outside my "home." Dinner calls. -Cade. -*-*-*-*- Not as dark. :L He's begining to go mad, but you'll see how he gets worse through each of the journal entries. Each journal has a year skip.
Sincere. I was trying to emphasize the word "really". And I didn't feel like typing the bb code for italics.