There are many different people in this world. One of them being the purple-obsessed teen killer, Jeovani Hills. He’s just like any other healthy 17-year-old boy, except he’s killed at least 50 people, lives alone, and gags at the sight of Northies. He’s commonly described as a tall figure dressed in a long black coat that’s been laced with an intricate purple design. His eyes are a dark purple, and his hair is black and curly. Typically, but not on going, the boy is said to be decorated with some kind of chains that wrap around his neck and arms. Not much else is known about him and although the boy is a living mystery, one thing is for sure: his right shoulder is reserved for that of his pet crow to use as a perch.

Jeovani lives on the Southside, which is occupied by people who’re considered poor, mindless, crazy or all of the above. Most people there have nowhere to stay in the expensive Northside, so they live unbothered by the government in this wasteland poor families call home. Buildings struggle to stay up right by themselves, and birds aren’t a strange way for babies to be stolen. The Southside is a scary place, but what makes it scarier is the amount of gangs and people that will kill you for not liking the way you blink. These people have been deemed villains, and let’s just say that Northies, or people that live on the Northside of the forest have a very good reason to stay on their own territory. Of course, however, this isn’t always the case. Rich parents drink wine and brag about their gold-filled lives while oblivious to the fact their child has run off into the giant forest making their way to the killers, crazies and vicious birds.

We start out this story with a very reliable Northern spy, Andrew Alias on his way to question our beloved killer who’s currently eating chicken nuggets on the roof of a worn-out apartment complex. Andrew’s elaborate disguise would fool anyone into thinking he’s from the South, which is exactly what he’s hoping Hills will think. The spy has dressed himself in a long worn out and holy coat that drags along the floor behind him, grey pants that sag just under his waist, and a dirt covered white undershirt to complete the look of a regular Southsider.

He walks through alleyways that smell of smoke and trash and as he passes by the remains of a dog being eaten by giant birds, he begins to think that home isn’t too far away. Maybe he can sneak away and no one will question him. Maybe he can-

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Move!”

“Sorry.”

Andrew’s mind is spinning and his feet are hardly moving, because all he can think about is his how his own funeral will look. Even with his dizziness, he treads on to where he’s been told Hills is located. The coat may be too itchy, his pants too big, and maybe he’s bit off more than he can chew by going through with this whole plan and-

There it is.

The tall apartment building that taunts him and his no-good disguise.

He takes a deep breath and gets out the tiny recorder from his coat pocket while possibly in the only working elevator on the Southside. “Here we go.” He whispers to himself, and soon enough the doors open, letting in a warm wind that brings leaves of orange and brown to his feet. The consoling, warm feeling finds itself traveling from his forehead to his heavy eyelids.

Faint coughs and delicate wind chimes in the distance call out to him, urging him out of the elevator. Andrew follows the sounds, and it only takes about three more coughs until he sees the slim figure of Hills sitting on the edge of the roof; his legs dangling off and his back hunched over with comfort. He coughs once again and tugs on the chains around his neck as if they’re too tight.

“Jeovani Hills?” Andrew’s lips quiver and he swallows hard, staying a small distance behind the Southsider. “That’s you, is it not?”

Hills slowly turns around to look at where the voice is coming from.

“Jeovani, I’m-”

“Andrew Alias.” The Southie stands to fully face him, then takes a few steps forward, closing the space between himself and Andrew. “I know who you are.”

“You… do?” His throat tightens.

“I do.” Jeovani says, the start of a malicious grin growing across his face. He takes a step back and locks eyes with the shivering Northie. “Your eyes are blue, Andrew. You’re a wind elemental?”

“Yes, I am.” All Andrew can think to do is keep a conversation going, but his lips won’t form anymore words.

“Really? Then you practice using it a lot?”

The warm feeling from the sun is gone, leaving Andrew’s heart beat in his throat, his breaths out of line, and his face pale. “W-well yes, but-”

“Then you should be able to catch yourself just fine.” Jeovani grabs Andrew’s coat and swings him over the edge of the roof top by it, watching him fall and hit the ground like a dropped ragdoll.